The Infinite Void
by Jon Sorensen
Summary: A young mage of the College of Winterhold and a reluctant assistant to a visiting scholar might have a few issues in her mind more pressing than pointless questions such as "what is magic?" and "where does it come from?" Not to speak of dreary musings about unfulfilled prophesies and the true nature of souls. But what's that about necromancers? The King of Worms WHO?
1. The Sorrows of a Young Sorceress

**The Sorrows of a Young Sorceress**

He was beautiful!

In fact, it was really outrageous, downright _unfair,_ that a man should be endowed with such otherworldly beauty. The voluptuous golden locks showering down onto his broad shoulders, the shirtless muscular torso like the cast of the perfect man which had never before, until now, known an actual fleshly form—and the godlike qualities by no means ended there. The symmetry of his strong-cast facial features of impeccable complexion was of such indescribable splendor that she nearly felt like weeping upon gazing at them. The eyes as deep blue as the ocean seemed to emanate light into which she'd have gladly been absorbed. And his smile—no, there simply were no sufficient words for it.

She stared open-mouthed as this lovely apparition slowly walked over to her with fluid motion of near divine grace. He stopped right in front of her and, with a smile reaching right into her very being, gently seized her slender shoulders with his large, strong hands. He looked deep into her eyes, and her heart fluttered. Those lovely full lips parted as he was about to say something. She braced herself, certain of the melodic quality of his voice. Knowing that whatever he was about to utter would forever shake her soul.

"Ariadne!"

She frowned. As gripped by passion as the man surely was, she was right there in front of him so there was no need to yell. And his voice was awfully . . . _feminine_. This was a bit of a surprise, no doubt, but surely not a detail she could not learn to get over—

"Ariadne!"

And just like that, right in front of her eyes, the man's lovely visage started to blur out. In distress, she reached out to touch him, but her hand went right through the rapidly fading image.

"No, no, no, don't go. We just met, and . . . well, I thought we could—"

 _Stop jabbering, you idiot!_

"Who you calling idiot, idiot?"

Irascibly muttering to herself, she opened her eyes, her hand impotently hanging in the air above her. And as the last of the dream melted away, she found herself on her back in her bed, blinking at the dispiriting gray ceiling of her cubicle. She scowled.

"Ariadne?"

Ariadne squeezed the hand into a fist, closing her eyes in frustration.

It was the scholar.

"Ariadne, are you awake?"

"Well, I am now," she muttered.

"Ariad—"

"What?" she cried. "What do you want?"

"Could you please come here so I don't have to yell?"

"'Come here'," she muttered as she kicked the blankets aside and clambered out of bed. "What am I, a dog?"

Once in her robes, Ariadne walked testily out into the rounded central space of the Hall of Attainment. The cubicles into which the space had been broken served as the living quarters of the mages living at the College of Winterhold. It was quiet now, with most of the students on an intense practice period during which they spent most of their time outside of the College's premises. The only sound was the low-level buzzing from the beam of magical energy shooting up from the fountain in the middle of the first floor. That and the faint shuffle of papers from the cubicle where the scholar kept her office.

Ariadne stopped outside of her own room with her arms crossed in front of her. "So," she called, "what is it?"

She could her the scholar sighing. "There's a courier waiting outside. He's got something for me. Would you be so kind as to go pick it up for me? I'm sort of in the middle of something here."

Ariadne blinked. Then she opened her mouth. And closed it again, giving her head a shake. No, probably not worth the trouble. "Fine," she snapped and, with a sigh of her own, headed to the stairs.

A courier! The least that the little bore of a woman could do is run for her own damned messages. _In the middle of something_ . . . Yeah right! A damned lazy ass was what she was: acting as though her stuffy books and papers were so much more important than anything else, including Ariadne's beauty sleep—which was, by the way, the one thing she had left these days in the way of escape from her dreary duties.

She couldn't help but wait until the Arch-Mage would dismiss her from this utterly thankless commission as the scholar's assistant. Sure, it liberated her from some of the other undesirable chores around the College; but after the better part of a year, well, washing dishes and peeling potatoes did not sound so bad at all. Besides, as soon as she passed her expert's exam she would be forever free of such duties as well. Perhaps then she would finally leave, maybe get out of this backwards province altogether. Find her destiny in some place more happening. And that destiny, she was sure, was bound to be a glorious one.

Until then, however, she would just have to do her damnedest to keep her feelings to herself. And in the meantime would simply have to swallow her pride and do things such as consulting messengers.

Reaching downstairs, Ariadne realized that she was still tingling from the dream. Oh, if only she'd had enough time to complete it! Even if it was a dream, she would not have spurned a little roll in the hay with a tall, gorgeous god of a boy. By this point, she deserved as much! Just thinking about it only made the tingling worse. So she pushed the thought away with some melancholy.

Downstairs was also totally deserted, which only refreshed her grouchiness. In the past, these practice periods had easily been her favorite occasions, when they really got into the action of things! Well, in truth she'd only had a chance to participate once, as during the first year they'd considered her too young. But then last year she'd had an absolute blast during those passing couple weeks: really getting to practice Destruction Magic the way it was meant to be done! Yet it had sadly only culminated in her being assigned to her present task.

Initially she had thought of it as a punishment of some sort. But what was she supposed to have done wrong? Sure, she'd shared some innocent kisses with a fellow student during one excursion, and yeah she'd snuck away for a little nap now and again; and of course there was that one time when she'd slipped some powerful laxative herb in that jealous bitch Vala Orania's drinking cup when she wasn't looking—but she didn't think anyone had known about those! In fact, she had later concluded, no one had. It was simply that someone had to run errands for that weird, reclusive Imperial, and the lot fell to her.

And so now she was stuck here as the errand girl.

Before going out, she stopped to regard herself in the large mirror by the entrance. This immediately made her feel a bit better. At least she still had her stunning good looks! The fine Breton features, the chestnut eyes and long dark-brown hair, all of which she'd inherited from her classic beauty of a mother, complete with a few complementary enforcements from her towering, piercingly handsome highborn Imperial father. Ariadne was tall and slender and yet there was still a shape to her: the curve of the hip and chest which made sure—as if the rest of her would not have sufficed!—that all male eyes were instantly drawn to her. And of course the female ones too, except that the looks on them had a distinctly different coloring than their male counterpart. But in both cases, however, she had to admit that those looks much pleased her whenever she garnered them.

She had finally reached an adept's level in Destruction Magic, which allowed her to wear the garb going with the rank. She'd been happy about that, not least for finally being rid of the hideous apprentice robes. The adept robes' color scheme of gold and amber simply brought her out so much better.

Ariadne nodded at her reflection contently and went out. A cold morning wind hailed her, and she wrapped her arms around herself for warmth, cursing under her breath. Somewhere out there, spring was in its prime with flowers in full bloom and the sun gentle on the skin. Not so in this forsaken corner of the world! Around Winterhold, as the name itself suggested, the snows never ever melted. Gods knew how long it had been since she'd last felt the warmth of the sun on her face. Hell—she'd probably not even _seen_ the damn thing for months! Small wonder if she was starting to feel a bit on edge!

Muttering, she walked into the College's circular courtyard, mindful so as not to slip on the ice. Straight ahead was the tall towering entrance to the Hall of Elements, in front of which stood the imposing statue of the first Arch-Mage, Shalidor. By the statue, there was another fountain of magic out of which another blue beam shot into the gray skies. An impressive sight, to be sure, one which could be seen from far away.

By the fountain there stood a small figure huddled against the wind's onslaught. And as Ariadne drew near, the head of that figure bobbed up. A familiar light ignited in those eyes as the young Bosmer got a look at her.

"You're here with a message?" Ariadne said none too patiently.

"Uh." The fool blinked as though having forgotten where he was. Mesmerized, no doubt. He came to his senses enough to go fumbling for the bag slung over one scrawny shoulder. "Uh, yes, ma'am, of course. Here. Here." He then looked up, a touch guarded. "Uh, you're Ariela?"

"No," she replied with decisive impatience, "I'm Ariadne."

The Wood Elf's feature's brightened. "Heh, well that sounds—"

"Yes, it sounds the same," Ariadne cut in, rolling her eyes. She stuck out her hand. "Now, can I just get the message, please?"

The courier hedged, frowning. "Uh, I'm not supposed to give it to anyone other than—"

She took a weighty step forward.

"Here, here!" the courier sputtered, and Ariadne was hard-pressed to stifle a grin. Instead, she snatched the paper out of the fool's now shaking hand, muttered thanks, and spun around to stride back inside.

"Uh, it was a pleasure meeting you!" the boy called from behind her.

She rolled her eyes.

Though a good part of her did feel self-satisfied, this doltish runt was not exactly someone whose ogling did much for her right now. She could still feel his eyes at her back. Staring like an idiot. That's what they always did.

 _If he were someone of even moderate esteem, then that would be fine. But a damned messenger boy!_

It occurred to her only passingly to wonder how the scholar had known about his arrival in the first place.

Upon closing the door behind her, Ariadne shuddered a bit at the relative warmth. Before heading up to take the letter, she stopped once more to look in the mirror. She smiled at her reflection, then silently shook her head. Poor boy: how could he _not_ have gawked!

After spending almost two whole decades in this world, she was already plenty knowledgeable of its ways. Yet it had been for only a bit less than half of that time that she had gotten to know the burning lust in the gazes of men. And no matter who the male in question was, the look was pretty much always the same. Some sort of mix of desperate need and the greed to possess. Evaluating her as though she were an asset to be acquired. Whether that man was rich or poor, born low or high, made no difference. And despite that she'd learned to enjoy the feeling it gave her a great bit, the power it gave her over him, there was no denying that it was . . . _pathetic_.

Yes, that was just the word. Pathetic.

 _Like the creatures themselves, I suppose._

Ariadne shrugged at her reflection, a motion which the reflection then returned—both of them perplexed by, and ultimately mostly indifferent to, the ways of men. She then set out to return upstairs.

The scholar, the small mousy Imperial named Ariela of . . . wherever, was in her usual posture: hunched among the piles of books and disorderedly scattered papers all over the desk, which dominated the cubicle serving as her study-bedchamber. The small bed in the corner was unmade, the bedclothes most likely unchanged for weeks on end. Dibella knew what manner of creatures lived in them by now.

Ariadne stood in front of the desk for a good while before she realized she was not going to get noticed any time soon. She cleared her throat. "So here's the—"

"Not now!" Ariela blurted without lifting her head. The pen scratched so feverishly against her notebook that it was small wonder the paper didn't catch fire. "Just—just a second here, and I'll be done. Just have to finish this. Please. Take a seat."

Sniffing, Ariadne looked about. A lone backless stool lay on its side by the desk. Rolling her eyes, she righted it and pulled it underneath her behind.

While she was waiting for the older woman to finish whatever she found to be so important, she read some of the titles written on the spines of the books piled on the desk. _Secret Societies_ by P.S. Eudonymous. _Effects of the Elder Scrolls_ by Justinius Poluhnius. _The Black Arts on Trial_ by Hannibal Traven. _Reality and Other Falsehoods_ by Who-the-hell-ever. _From_ _Aedra to Xivilai: Blah_ _Blah Blah Blah Blah_ by Some Stodgy Old Coot.

 _Riveting stuff._

Finally, Ariela looked up and saw Ariadne perusing the books. And when their gazes met she could see something light up in the scholar's eye. Surprise. A certain hopefulness, even. Her lips parted as if she were about to say something.

"How can you stand it?" Ariadne cut in.

The scholar frowned. "What . . . what do you mean?

Ariadne gestured. "I mean all this. This . . . _drivel_ you have to pore over days on end. Dry as the paper it was scribbled on. I imagine it must be awfully tedious, doing what you do."

"Drivel? No, no," Ariela finally replied, blinking as though she'd just been introduced to an altogether novel notion. "Not at all. That's not true in the least!"

"Uh huh."

"No, seriously. You couldn't be more wrong! This." She swept her small hand over the mess on the desk. "This is what it's all about. Everything that's ever been a thing—there's nary anything in this world that _somebody_ did not take the time to investigate: to really give some thought and careful study, and then write down their thoughts on paper for others to appreciate. Scholarship, Ariadne!" Her face positively glowed. "Science! There's absolutely nothing more important or _interesting_ in the whole world!"

Ariadne opened her mouth to voice her objection.

"Take what you do here, for example!" Ariela exclaimed. "Magic. It seems such an obvious thing that we should understand what it is. I mean, it's been used by mortals for millennia for purposes both beneficial and harmful, long enough that we take it for granted! And yet, and yet . . . we still have no clear idea of what it even _is_! Or what magica is. Where it comes from. Think about that—is it not simply incredible!"

"The Magnus—" Ariadne tried.

The scholar cut her off with a dismissive wave of her hand and a contemptuous _pfft._ "Magnus _Schmagnus_! That theory doesn't even make sense, let alone explain anything."

Ariadne could not help but feel affronted by the other woman's rude manner. She did, however, have the good grace to keep her perfectly justified sense of indignation to herself.

As far as she knew, there wasn't simply one theory about how the god Magnus played part in the birth of magica, the energy which mages made use of when partaking in the magic arts. The standard legend had it that magica was the residual part of Magnus' power his virtual destruction in the creation of Mundus, the mortal plane. And the other idea closely related to that was something like that he had torn some kind of hole into Aetherius, the realm of the gods, through which magica had then flown into the world. Something in that vein, anyhow.

There were others theories too, coined by the sort of people who had nothing better to do in their dreary lives than come up with contrived explanations for matters that others had the good sense to simply utilize for their benefit—but she had only learned those for as long as it took for her to pass her courses, and then forget all about such inconsequential blather as soon as possible and move on to more interesting things.

 _So, who's the smart one?_

"No, the truth of the matter is," Ariela said, apparently still intent on proving some point, "is that there is no clear idea of what we're dealing with when using magic."

" _We_?" Ariadne asked. "I was under the impression that you had no finger in such business. Weren't you, like, one of _them_? You know—a _dullard_?"

The scholar flushed. "Ahem, yes. I am a . . . Dull. For some reason or another, people like me are unable to connect with magica. True enough." She cleared her throat. "But that doesn't mean the subject matter isn't of great interest to me! So far I believe that I've read virtually everything written on these questions, and the one thing I can attest to is that I've become none the wiser for all my reading!"

"Imagine that," Ariadne muttered.

She fought hard the urge to roll her eyes. Even to _think_ that reading about magic even saw the shadow of actually doing it—Ariadne could think of no more foolish assertion. There was simply nothing comparable to the thrill—the sheer power—of wielding forces that one would have thought to reserve for the gods or nature. The bliss of it was quite incomparable. She genuinely felt sorry for anyone who could not participate in this most sublime of arts. To feel the force of magica, whatever it was, coursing through and pouring out of you, the sense of empowerment embedded in the art—and, she thought, this was especially true of Destruction Magic—was greater than any other pleasure imaginable. Compare it to—

She suddenly became aware of Ariela's mouth still moving with words coming out, and that she had tuned out completely.

Her cheeks warming a touch, Ariadne made the effort to concentrate.

". . . but none of those proved to be of much help," Ariela went on. "Contrived, esoteric nonsense for the most part. And in fact the only somewhat elucidating text that I've come across is the documented correspondence between my mentor Cicero Herennius—bless his soul—and Eurnus Dradas, an esteemed scholar at the Synod. But even those two genial figures had to admit that the best they could come up with were some educated guesses. Their only true unequivocal point of agreement, and simultaneously the only assertion nearing a conclusion in their letters, was that in casting a spell one in some form or another participated in the act of creation itself, if only apparently after the fact. That the words spoken in that instance somehow took part in the process through which the gods themselves are able to shape and mould the cosmos, and that in this it was intent that was paramount. But that's as far as they would go. Not really forwarding the question too much, I think.

"Now, the most fascinating ruminations in the letters, in my estimation, were the ones Herennius briefly indulged in, speculating about magic's relationship with causation and probability. He hypothesized that perhaps the mage, casting a spell, in some way alters the probability of things happening. That is, an occurrence such as would otherwise be very unlikely, say, you projecting fire out of your fingertips, was made more probable and ultimately inevitable, once you tap into the essence of being and manipulate it by way of arcane language. But as interesting as that might be, he concluded that it was far too abstract, not to say utterly unfalsifiable a hypothesis to be of much value. Dradas wholeheartedly agreed."

This Herennius fellow had been a curmudgeonly old codger from Cyrodiil who had arrived at the College a few years back, around the same time that Ariadne had started her magic studies. The man had positively contaminated the Arcanaeum with his peculiar musty odour, which had forced her to check out any books she needed instead of studying there. For this, and that was reason enough, she had born something of a grudge against him. Then, when the old boy had contacted some inexplicable sickness, she had been alarmed at first. Sure, she'd directed some bitter thoughts against him, but surely she had not caused . . . no, she'd pushed such guilty thoughts away. It was simply not likely. And yet, some one year after the arrival of Ariela, the man had died.

Had she . . . _cursed_ him?

Surely not. That was just stupid.

 _In fact, stop thinking about it!_

Ariela drew breath, as if she'd forgotten to do so for a while, then continued on her interminable tangent. "The best and most direct attempt at defining magica, in my opinion, comes from one eccentric Breton mage and scholar named Alabistair Adrognese. He named magica 'the will of the soul', and claimed that every action we engage in with our will should in some sense be judged as an act of magic. Now, while that might be a confusing statement at face value, it is in my mind the most solid argument out there, as far as I know, that has the courage to think a little bit outside of the standard framework of thought. And if one is not afraid of a little bit of controversy, it is interesting to compare Adrognese's definition with what the High Priestess Thelema Morvayn from Morrowind wrote in her treatise _On the Gift of the Dun Molag_ —"

The scholar's droning faded into nothingness as Ariadne's gaze fixed on the woman's precipitous beak of a nose. A typically Cyrodiilian feature, to be sure, and she for one thanked Dibella for having dodged that particular arrow. She mostly had her mother's delicate blood to thank for that. In fact, she would've easily passed for a full-blooded Breton, and almost everyone seemed to take her for one as well. What's more, having grown up in High Rock, she didn't feel as though she had much connection with her father's heritage. _Your only truly Imperial feature, Adne, is your character_ , he once said. Whatever that was supposed to mean.

"Well?" Ariela said.

"Well what?"

"I said, would you not agree?"

"Oh yeah," she replied. "Sure. Why not."

Ariela frowned at her for a moment. Then her eyes went to the letter still in Ariadne's hand. "Right, I suppose I should have a look at that."

Ariadne handed it over.

"Hmm," the scholar said. "It's from my guild. What do they want?"

The Scholar's Guild, from which she'd originally come, located in Cyrodiil. It was that dusty conclave of stuffy academics that Herennius had been the principal of. Said enough to Ariadne about the necessity of the sect that their leader could be away for several years without anyone particularly missing him.

At Ariela's question, she shrugged. "They miss you and want you to go back home?" _I wish!_

Ariela frowned at her briefly, then tore open the envelope.

While she read, Ariadne stretched out her long legs on the shallow stool. Winced at the pain in her knees. She'd spent way too much time inactive, and was getting old before her time! It was high time to get some action for a change. If even—or perhaps _especially_ —the sort which simply required for her to spread 'em out—

" _What_!" Ariela exclaimed, startling the young mage from her nascent reveries.

Straightening on the stool, Ariadne frowned. "What?" She was surprised to find that she was actually almost curious.

Ariela read on. "No. What are they . . .?"

Ariadne waited.

"Listen to this. They've got some nerve, I'll give 'em that! _Yada_ _yada yada_ . . . _on account of the very unfortunate and untimely demise of principal Herennius, the frankly unconventional nature of his original research, and the political situation in the Empire currently being what it is, we see no alternative than to request your immediate return to Cyrodiil. You will be immediately reassigned upon your arrival. Best regards, Plitinius_."

Ariadne's brows went up. _Well, what do you know!_

Ariela's furious eyes lifted from the paper. "Can you believe it?"

 _Barely. I did not actually expect to be so lucky._ "Too bad, huh."

"Absolutely not!" the scholar barked, not even hearing Ariadne's response. Her hand closed around the paper, crumpling it. "If they think they can just push me around at their will they've got another thing coming! Herennius passed a year ago, and not a word from them until now! Oh, I'm sure Plitinius is positively crushed by grief, seeing that the highest position in the Guild just fell in his lap. And the political situation? What does that have to do with anything? Infighting of out-of-touch nobles—that stuff has never _ever_ been a major concern for our kind! Some in this very College lived through the damned Civil War, and they barely paid mind to it!"

That would have been the Civil War of Skyrim. Ancient history, as far as Ariadne was concerned. At any rate, before she was even born. Some people sure still liked to harp about it, though.

Sagging back, Ariela sighed. "It's so typical, isn't it? ' _The unconventional nature of his research'_? That's exactly the sort of attitude Herennius was always complaining about, that he'd had to fight all his life. The chief reason that led him to keep his thoughts mainly to himself. It's like, they get this narrow perception of what is appropriate, what you can study or think about. Deviate from that and . . . It's like—" She went to rummage through the piles of books for a minute, then produced a tome with its binding torn. "It's like with this."

Ariadne squinted at the faded title. " _The Eternal Flame—and How it Died_ ," she read.

"That's right. Now the author, Herminia Cinna, started out as an amateur scholar who ended up earning her chops in the scientific community with her brilliantly sober histories of the ancient Ayleids. She was soon celebrated as a ground-breaking historian and welcomed into the scholarly fold. So you would think that her story had a happy ending right?"

Ariadne shrugged.

"Well, wrong! See, some decade after the Oblivion Crisis, her interests turned to the Dragon Fires and their final annihilation. She got curious. How had the fires truly served to keep Oblivion at bay, and why was it that their extinction enabled Mehrunes Dagon to proceed with his invasion? This turned her into studying the symbolic significance of fire in general, its place in societies across time and space, from primitive to highly civilized ones, being particularly interested in the theme of continuity, both individual and societal, which fire at times has come to represent. She went out of her way to use her keen historical sense developed with her earlier research to sketch out bold theories about the workings of the Dragon Fires and their link with the minds of mortals and with the processes of belief.

"And what do they do: do they judge her on the basis of the soundness of her argument, the rigor of her scholarship? No! They debase her on account of her being 'outside of her field'! Completely out of hand, they ignore all her hard won arguments, the acuity of her analysis, simply because she decided to do something different, to probe outside the box, which then all culminated with the ending of her whole career! And that's exactly what has happened time and time again to anyone who dared to push the envelope just a bit too far! It's— _bullshit_!"

Ariela slammed the book on the table with a resounding thump, causing Ariadne to jump. She slumped back again, brooding inwards. "Well, they can forget about it," she muttered. Then unfurled the letter again to stare at it, shaking her head.

While Ariadne waited for wherever this was going, she picked up the book for a summary examination. After a couple seconds, she tossed it back with a shrug.

"It's actually a really fascinating topic," Ariela said, "and might actually interest you too."

 _How do I doubt that so very much?_

"I'll tell you more about it later."

"I'm sure that you will," Ariadne mumbled.

"Anyway, I won't let them push me around. Let them come and get me if they want!" The scholar straightened and tore the letter into pieces. She grabbed a pen and a bottle of ink, then produced a sheet of paper. After dipping the pen in the ink, she poised it above the paper. "I shall send them a reply." She thought about it for a minute, then, with a grunt, tossed the pen aside, spattering ink. "Ah, I can't think of anything scathing enough!" She made to stand up. "I'll think about it as we go."

Ariadne raised one brow. "Go?"

"Oh, didn't I tell you?" Ariela smiled. "We're going on a little adventure!"

Ariadne did not return the smile.


	2. The Unbearable Unfairness of Being

**The Unbearable Unfairness of Being**

Ariadne did her damnedest to let her disposition express the displeasure she felt over the latest turn of affairs, without actually suffering the indignity of speaking her mind.

So far, she judged, it wasn't going so well.

The bony slip of a scholar, Ariela, marched down the stairs ahead of the unfairly tormented younger woman, quite oblivious to the sulky, stiff-backed manner in which the latter conveyed her affronted self after her, arms tucked tight on top of her breasts, her mouth a tight line.

No, none of her subtly orchestrated demonstrations seemed to be getting through. Which, of course, only made her more cross.

And to think that just a little while ago she had for a second thought she was finally getting rid of her thankless assignment!

She sighed loudly as they came downstairs. _Adventure! I'll show you adventure!_ She was well aware that she could be rather difficult if she so wanted. And this might have just been one of those situations where that particular propensity of hers would come in handy.

"Oh, oh!" Ariela exclaimed suddenly, spinning around, and thus intercepting the moderately brilliant snarky comment which Ariadne had prepared. "Did you remember the—"

 _Look at you, all bright eyed and bushy tailed! And for what, for getting a chance to haul all those useless books around in your beat up old knapsack of yours?_ _I swear, there's something about your tiny little face_ _that j_ _ust makes me wanna slap it sometimes. Dammit, what was I just gonna say? I know it was something good! Clever too, needless to add._

The scholar frowned, having finished whatever it was that she just said. "Well?"

Ariadne matched the scowl with one of her own. "Did I? Yes, of course I remembered," she hissed. "Contrary to what you obviously seem to believe, I wasn't born yesterd—"

But the scholar had stopped listening. Instead she faced the hallway again, crooning, "Oh good, good!"

Ariadne could have just growled. This would not do! She would not be treated like this: brushed aside and ignored. No one— _no one_ —treated her that way!

And she was just about to say as much when she was once again interrupted. This time it was another voice, one behind her. A male voice.

A soft, assuring yet assertive male voice with an alluring, mischievous edge to it.

"Ah, well but if it isn't my favorite young sorceress! Was kinda hoping to run into you."

She felt her face at once freezing over and burning hotly. Her mouth suddenly felt dry and her knees not quite as steadfast as just seconds before.

 _Shit!_

Ariadne tried to appear as casual as she could, turning to find Calisto Larouche, the star student of the College, standing behind her. As usual, immediately upon seeing him she felt her confidence shatter to pieces. There was simply something about the young and tall Breton that she found turning her nerves to jelly. The man's curly chestnut hair framed his perfectly proportioned, strong-jawed features out of which stared the darkest pair of eyes she'd ever seen, twinkling with self-possessed confidence matched perfectly by the way he held his dexterous form.

Calisto did not seem to pay any attention to the scholar, only focusing on Ariadne. He spread out his arms, his white-toothed smile enough to thaw all the ice in Winterhold. "And just as lovely as I remembered!"

For the life of her, she couldn't think of a single appropriate thing to say. Some very inappropriate for certain! But nothing which would have served her here.

 _Oh boy, I don't know what special sort of magic you wield, but I can tell you that your eyes alone ignite a firestorm inside of my breeche—_

Yeah, _that_ sort of inappropriate.

"Oh, uh. Hi, Calisto!" she stammered. "I didn't see you there."

Immediately after those words, Ariadne felt like melting and disappearing into one of the cracks between the floor tiles. _Dunce!_

But Calisto just reached into his seemingly endless storage to offer up another one of his charming smiles—only making matters worse! "Well, what's important is that _I_ saw _you_. And man am I glad for that!"

Someone cleared their throat behind his back.

Oh yes, of course the handsome man was not alone. Behind him, shadowed by his presence, waited three other people. A female Dunmer and a male Imperial whose names she did not care to know. Fellow students. And then there was Sissel, a senior mage. She was a hard-faced Nord who for some reason or another always seemed to wear a frown whenever she saw Ariadne and Calisto speak. This time was no exception. On the face of it, she seemed a bit disgruntled over being ignored. But that wasn't the whole story. In fact, Ariadne was fairly sure that the woman was simply jealous, and had in fact suspected it all along.

At first, though, she had thought that it was over Calisto, which would have made perfect sense as far as she was concerned. But then, after finding out certain things about the woman, she had concluded that it was actually more likely _her_ that she was jealous over. And if she'd sort of skirted around the dour woman before that, then afterwards she'd been avoiding her even more assiduously.

But what really mattered here now was what Calisto had just said.

He was glad to _see her_?

"You, uh, are?"

"Absolutely! See, I heard that you were going out on an errand of some sort. And seeing that we also happen to be about to take on a special mission, this is as happy a chance as I could have hoped for."

 _How would you have heard that in this time? And more importantly: you actually_ care _?_ "We? Er, I mean, what sort of mission?"

"Oh, nothing much," he said. "Just some—"

Sissel stepped up to interrupt him. "Necromancers, Ariadne. We've been tracking a gang of 'em for a while now, and we believe that the time has come for us to make a move. They're holed up in Whiterun."

Ariadne's widened eyes searched for Calisto's, who assumed an expression as though the whole affair really wasn't the big deal it was made it out to be. "It's true." He dismissively waved one elegant, delicate but strong, hand. He had the long fingers of a lute player.

 _He could use them to play_ my _lute anytime!_

She did her best to focus. "Oh. Really? I mean, that sounds dangerous!"

To be honest, a genuine sentiment stirred inside of her on account of the news. That was, besides the obvious one that the physical proximity of this demigod of a man always gave her. Half of what she felt now was worry, as what Sissel had described really did sound dangerous. The prospect of Calisto getting hurt was not one she welcomed. But the other half was envy. For one, Sissel would be able to be close to him instead of her; and secondly, why should _they_ get all the action while Ariadne was stuck following the little Cyrodiilian bore around? It just wasn't fair!

Calisto's grin was almost pitying. "Dangerous? Well of course. That is, dangerous for _them_! We're about to teach them a severe lesson about the dangers of treating with the dark arts!"

Sissel was rolling her eyes, about to say something, when Ariela joined the conversation.

"What manner of necromancers are we talking about here? I mean, how organized are they?"

Ariadne thought that it was a really strange thing to ask.

Calisto shot the small woman a haughty look, the smile lingering on his lips quirking into a far less convivial direction. "Sorry, but this is confidential College business. You'd better stick to what you know best, little sister. People tend to get hurt when they don't."

Ariela's mouth snapped open. Then she frowned. Stunned by the blunt response, yet clearly trying to come up with some kind of an answer.

Ariadne also had to admit to being a bit thrown off by the man's sudden change of tone, no matter that she felt secret pleasure over the scholar's reaction. But then she knew Calisto well enough to not be truly surprised. She wasn't so blind as to take him for any kind of saint; and, truth be told, his brashness was a considerable facet of his overall attraction. He well knew what he was worth and made no attempt to conceal it. Such was the common trait, Ariadne supposed, of anyone wanting to get ahead in the world.

"So everyone's all set, then? Splendid!"

All heads then turned in the direction of the imposing female voice. Faralda, the Arch-Mage, walked in from outside, bringing with her a gust of chill air which perfectly heralded the Altmer's austere deportment.

Calisto, as if to put the ice-thawing power of his radiant smile to the test, greeted the taciturn woman like an old friend. "All I can speak for is myself," he said. "And as you well know, I am always ready!" All that was missing from that, Ariadne thought, was an evocative wink.

Well, she for one would have been sold. But then she wasn't exactly impartial.

Unsurprisingly, nothing about Faralda betrayed her being in any way affected by the roguish young man's charms. "No doubt," she said. "And yet I am compelled to remind you that this is no game. Those people are very—"

"Dangerous. Yeah, got that. _And yet_ . . ." He spread out his long arms theatrically, "They're about to learn about something even more dangerous."

Sissel rolled her eyes.

Even Ariadne had to admit that the man's bravado was going a bit too far. But then she would have never in a million years questioned his capabilities. Cocky, even slightly obnoxious though he might have been, he was also very, _very_ convincing. Not to mention imposing.

There was that feeling again . . .

"Excuse me, Arch-Mage," Ariela then chimed in, helping Ariadne to snap out of it. "But am I to assume you're only sending four mages against a band of necromancers? And three of them mere students!"

"There she goes again!" Calisto snarled. His face suddenly darkening, he took a sudden step towards the scholar, poking a finger in her direction. "Didn't I warn you about getting into—"

Faralda stepped between them, a warding hand up for Calisto. "Please," she told him—it was _not_ a plea.

The mood in the hallway suddenly grew tense.

As the comely mage relented, throwing his hands up with a roll of his eyes, Faralda gave the comically unsettled-looking scholar something approximating a friendly smile. "I understand your concern, Ariela. But this mission is meant to be stealthy in nature—not the kick-in-doors kind." She threw a significant glance Calisto's way. "And therefore the fewer people we have on it the better. Furthermore, I can assure you that the "mere students" that I'm sending are of the highest quality, and thus not all that different from more experienced mages. This will be an excellent way to prepare for their careers, as those will likely not be spent far out of harm's way. And Sissel, of course, is a more than capable supervisor for this mission. In short, they all have my most complete trust. Besides." She reached out to place a hand on Calisto's shoulder. The camaraderie of the gesture came with a suggestion of quasi-motherly authority. "Calisto here is the most capable student that this institution has seen in a good while—he could probably well take on this mission alone if needed."

Ariadne could not help feel a little bit slighted. _Capable students_ —well what about her then! Did the Arch-Mage truly think that her abilities only made her good enough to be a damned servant! She was definitely one of the most able—if indeed not _the_ most able—Destruction mage around! And while she was well aware that she wasn't the humblest person in the room either, she also was certain that this one thing about her was absolutely true. _So what about me?_

Calisto's grin was wrought with self-gratification as he was nodding at Faralda's words.

"It's true," Sissel told the scholar equably. "There's no need to worry, we know what we are doing."

The woman gave Ariadne an odd glance, a sort of scan from head to toe. She found herself tugging her robe tighter.

The scholar nodded, a chary eye on Calisto.

"And how about you?" Faralda asked her. "I trust you shall not be away for long?"

Ariela shook her head. "Shouldn't, no. Our trek is fairly straightforward. First to Hjaalmarch, a quick visit to Whiterun, and then back. Chances are we'll be back by nightfall but by tomorrow at latest."

 _Why Hjaalmarch of all places,_ Ariadne wondered. On the other hand, a visit to Whiterun might be kind of nice. She could see spring, no matter how briefly! It had always been her very favorite season.

"Well, take your time. Might be nicer to stay the night in the city, instead of rushing back overnight. Safer, too."

"Well, I have my protection."

Faralda stole a glance at Ariadne. Was it somehow a bit dismissive? "Aye," she said. "Of course. Well, everything is ready for your departure. Farewell—and see you again shortly." Again, she gave Ariadne an odd glance but didn't say anything. Only gave a strange little nod, and even that seemed more like a private one.

 _Bitch, what did I ever do to you!_

"I'll have another word with you," Faralda then said to Calisto. "In my chambers."

Ariadne almost raised a brow at that, but managed to catch herself.

She had to wonder about the two. After all, Calisto would have long been a full-fledged master mage had he not, somewhat ironically, been so involved in all sorts of College affairs. But while his other duties had kept him from completing his formal studies, there was no question that he was far more proficient than almost anyone else, including the senior mages. He was a prodigy, to put it simply. And he had not simply contented himself with mastering one type of magic, which was most common, but more or less all of them. It was in fact quite possible that his skills already surpassed the Arch-Mage's, which was what made Ariadne wonder. He was at least as ambitious as he was attractive, that was plain to see.

Maybe it was Ariadne's own sensibilities talking, but she couldn't avoid the question: was the Arch-Mage perhaps more anxious about Calisto threatening her position, or more eager to get him into her bed?

Not that the woman had shown any inkling of either. But then the Altmer had a way of hiding their personal emotions. If they even had them, that was—for who could tell? But surely she must have truly been frozen from the inside out if she'd not once considered Calisto in that manner. Unless, of course, she was like Sissel. _Though even then . . ._

Faralda then switched her attention to Sissel. "You as well."

 _Oh, I see how it is!_

Ariadne wanted to slap her mind into silence _. I didn't_ _sleep too well last night—that must be it._

Calisto nodded consent, then smiled at Ariadne, and she once more felt like melting. That's when she noticed Sissel giving her one of those eerie look-overs again. When their eyes met, the other woman smiled somewhat bashfully.

Ariadne, her suspicions as much as confirmed, quickly averted her eyes, deeply ill at ease. It would be bad enough if the woman were of an appropriate age, but she was _old_! Like, at least thirty!

Luckily, Calisto offered succor by choosing that moment for his sendoffs. "And so, loveliest Ariadne, we must part for now. But fear not, we shall be reacquainted sooner than you think. And when we are, well, there is something that I've been rather wanting to talk to you about. So, until then. And farewell, whatever it is that you're off to do." He gave her another radiant smiled and a small bow. She half prepared to offer her hand up for a kiss too, but held herself back.

Calisto, before swinging around, shot Ariela a dark glare, but said nothing to her. A brief look at Ariadne, a wink, and he was off.

"Uh, bye!" Ariadne said, completely robbed of wits.

The two remaining mage students just sort of wandered off, as the Arch-Mage towed Sissel and Calisto after her.

Staring after them, at Calisto's broad back, his swaggering gait, Ariadne bit her lower lip. She herself could not quite decide which was greater: her lust or her envy.

 _Are you sure about that?_

Before she could quite fully react to the odd sudden persnickety turn of her own mind, the scholar faced her.

"Well, that was a bit awkward."

"I'll say," Ariadne replied coldly. "Did you have to just _try_ and agitate him?"

Ariela blinked her widened eyes. "I . . ."

"Never mind," Ariadne muttered.

The scholar seemed to sort of shake herself. "Never mind, yes. We'll forget all about it soon enough."

"Yes," Ariadne mused. "Sure."

Ariela smiled. "Well, are you ready?"

 _No._

"Let's go then!" And she swung toward the doorway.

With a sigh and a suffering gaze up at the Hall's high ceiling, Ariadne followed, muttering incendiary words.

There was no way around it: the Arch-Mage clearly had it in for her. Most likely the old witch had purposely emphasized her glowing esteem towards all the other mages present barring Ariadne. But _why_? What had she ever done to deserve this?

With an invisible dark cloud shadowing her, she decided there and then that she'd figure the whole thing out whilst on this waste of time of a trek. And by the time they were back, she'd have some plan ready for how to deal with it. She would come out of this winning, she swore. She'd not suffer in silence and just take it!

Still, there was no way around it: there was no reason why she should be going thought something like this. No reason at all.

It was just _so_ unfair!


	3. On Dragons and Other Sources of Heat

**On Dragons and Other Sources of Heat**

A two-horse carriage waited on the other side of the zigzagging bridge connecting the College to the small ramshackle town of Winterhold. Almost no one lived there anymore, and Ariadne for one could not blame anyone for not wishing to move in. The everlasting winter alone was enough to keep any sensible folk away, and then there was the fact that there was virtually nothing here. Only a few buildings had been spared some hundred years back when massive storms had caused most of the town to collapse down into the Sea of Ghosts. Ever since, she supposed, it had been more or less dead, yet for a wonder still retained its existence.

Quite likely that was only thanks to the College, which nevertheless still got the occasional blame for what happened. Stupid superstitious, not to mention _ungrateful_ , people!

She gazed back at the College. _Well, it does naturally invite questions . . ._ It had been miraculously spared the catastrophe, and had since stood as it did now, perching atop a self-supporting rock spire as if to offer its wholehearted contempt in the face of the primeval forces of nature. So suppose it was no wonder if some folks had deduced that perhaps the mages had something to do with the collapse.

 _Still, how about a little show of gratitude?_

The little people truly weren't called that without reason.

The carriage was of the fancy closed kind, which in all honestly seemed like the bare minimum in the local climate if one was going to bother with a carriage at all. In reality, though, they would not have needed one to begin with, but it happened to be the scholar's chosen method of conveyance. Ariadne herself would have just chosen horses. Not that she was against comfort, rather vice versa, but that was just the rub: these damnable things were ultimately not that comfortable at all. Perhaps if the roads had been more even . . . but they weren't.

Their horses did actually go along, tied to the back of the carriage just in case they needed them, which seemed smart enough a precaution. Yet it felt like something of an insult to have her beautiful, shiny black mare, Arcana, towed behind a cart like some damned milk cow. The horse herself looked a little offended by the indignity. Ariela's own humble auburn steed, on the other hand, seemed perfectly satisfied with the treatment, but then that was hardly surprising.

Along with the carriage came two armed guards, otherwise dressed in the same garb the Winterhold guards wore, brown scaled tunic and a gray sash, but with open faced helmets. Both the carriage and the guards had been arranged for the scholar by an influential acquaintance, a woman, as it so happened, who had once long long ago been the Arch-Mage for like a week. She was otherwise known throughout the province as a great hero turned wealthy merchant, so it was really unclear how Ariela had managed to win her favor. Also, the exact reasons for the whole set up were not clear to Ariadne. Simple paranoia? Still, how the rich woman saw this as sufficient grounds for granting the odd little scholar her wish—let alone the Arch-Mage—completely eluded her.

Luckily it wasn't as if she really cared one way or another.

As they walked over, the guards, who'd been idly chattering, gained in decorum. There had initially been more of them, but eventually the number had boiled down to these two. The other one, Thurd—at least that's what Ariadne thought his name was, and it fit him well enough—was as unimpressive as he was forgettable, a mousy haired man of medium height and nondescript features. Him Ariadne pretty much ignored, but gave a smile to the other, Brend, starkly contrasting with the first man with his tall, handsome aspect. She didn't think she'd ever seen eyes so blue, like two chips carved out of the midsummer sky. A single golden lock curled out of his helmet by the temple in the most adorable way. He returned her smile, but in a far more neutral manner than she'd wished.

"Morning lads," Ariela beckoned with insouciance seeming utterly forced. "Are we all set?"

Brend's smile swiveled from Ariadne to encompass the scholar. "Aye, ma'am. We're good to go."

Ariela managed a brief, tight-lipped returning smile before quickly averting her gaze from the dashing guard. "Ah, nice. Let's, um, go then." And she slunk inside as if she could not get away fast enough.

"You are looking good today," Thurd in turn told Ariadne, as she was about to move past him to follow after the scholar.

She frowned at him. Couldn't think of an appropriate response. "Of course," she said.

Moments later they were on the move, the carriage trundling ahead, heaving left and right, while no one spoke. Thurd on the opposite seat kept stealing glances at Ariadne, which she met with a most studied disinterest. She, on the other hand, tried balancing the unimposing fellow's unsolicited regard by trying to catch the eye of Brend beside him. Without success. Instead the man seemed preoccupied by some internal pursuit, one which, judging by the vague quirk of his lip, seemed to offer him some lukewarm amusement. Wayward thoughts of some pettifogging floozy?

Ariadne wanted to sigh out her frustration. _Of course_ it would have to be this way! Have the plain, boring one drooling after her while the one whose attentions she would've actually appreciated seemed intent on ignoring her. Just her luck! Could she never get what she wanted? Was the world truly that unjust?

Why _was_ Brend paying her no mind? She was by far the most fetching young lady from here to Markarth! _Every_ one _always_ wanted to look at her—so why not him? Then perhaps, she reflected, the man was also of the same queer persuasion as Sissel. For the life of her, she had never understood people like that. Frankly, they made her uncomfortable.

But just then, and exactly at the right time, the man turned to flash her a grin most beatific, revealing a complement of flawless teeth. With a rush of pleasure and great relief, she immediately forgave him. After all, how could you stay mad at that face!

Of course he was no Calisto, but he was a hell of a lot closer than anyone else in the near vicinity.

Out of the corner of her eye she thought that the other fellow looked somewhat disgruntled. _Well, let him be! Serves him right, anyway._ Perhaps indeed there was a valuable lesson somewhere in there for him to heed.

The scholar sitting next to her was utterly oblivious to all of this as she, unsurprisingly, had her nose in a book. Ariadne could not understand her at all. It was one thing that she could be so captivated by words scribbled on paper, but how could she concentrate on reading in the rocking and heaving of the carriage? It would have made her terribly nauseous.

Ariela noticed her looking. "Oh, how rude of me! Would you like a book as well?"

Ariadne narrowed her eyes. Was the little imp taking a piss out of her? Nah, she then decided. The scholar truly was just that guileless. "No thanks," she replied.

"Are you sure? I'm sure that I've got something in here that would captivate your interest. Let's see." She went to dig in her bag.

Simply could not take a hint, that woman, now could she?

 _I hope it's not the flame stuff again. Not exactly the sort of fire that I'm into . . ._

As the woman rummaged, a book fell out of her knapsack and landed open on its back. Both guards initially reacted to the occurrence, but Brend was faster. He snatched the book of the floor and proffered it back to Ariela with, unsurprisingly enough, a bright smile.

Ariela, just as predictably, blushed, and then quickly looked away, muttering, "thanks".

Despite everything, Ariadne could not help feeling jealous. Surely he saw nothing in _her_!

Then again, knowing men—if it had a pair of tits and a hollowed out section between its legs, or somewhere in those parameters, there was always _something_ to see.

Brend pointed at the dragon emblem on the cover of the book he'd just salvaged. "Is it like a history of the Empire or something?" he asked. The stylized image of the dragon that the Empire used as their coat of arms was supposed to represent Akatosh, the dragon god of time. Or something in that vein.

Ariela blinked at the man, as if stunned that someone showed the least of interest in her book. Franky, Ariadne more or less shared that sentiment.

"Um, no," the scholar muttered. Then she cleared her throat and spoke somewhat more confidently. "It's called 'the Book of the Dragonborn'," she said, and shyly presented the spine of the book as if for proof. "It's about . . . well, the Dragonborn."

"Oh, like the Emperors of old?"

"Yes, yes, them. And also . . . eh, other stuff."

"What were those scribblings?" Ariadne chimed in. "Those I saw on the inside?" Part of her could not believe she was joining in the conversation, but if Brend could do it then so could she.

"Scribblings? Oh, those are Herennius' notes. The Dragonborn thing was something of a . . . pet project of his. Almost since the years of the Civil War when he founded what later grew to be the Scholar's Guild."

"He studied old emperors? And here I was thinking his work has something to do with Daedra."

"It did," Ariela said, "it did. This was more of a, uh, hobby. Plus, it wasn't the emperors he was interested in but the Last Dragonborn."

"Who, that fellow who turned into a dragon?"

"No, not Martin Septim. And he didn't exactly _turn into_ a dragon but rather became— ah, well never mind that. But no not him. It's the prophecy . . ." Ariela hesitated. "Um, yeah. So there. Nothing much to it."

"No, this is getting interesting," Brend pressed on. "Prophecy?"

"Yes, well, uh," the scholar said after a moment's hesitancy, "the Prophecy of the Dragonborn, originating either in an Elder Scroll or the ancient Akaviri. It foretells the coming of the Last Dragonborn, alluding to cataclysmic events possibly spelling the end of the world as we know it. This coming is described as being heralded by a series of significant portents. And Herennius . . . well, by the end, he was more or less convinced that, judging by all the portents and after their careful interpretation, the prophecy should have by all means come to pass. And the fact that it _hadn't_ greatly interested, or frankly greatly _troubled,_ him."

There was a moment of silence, broken when Ariadne suddenly let out an effervescent titter. Then she covered her mouth with the fingers of one hand. "Oh," she said to the suddenly blanched scholar. "You were . . . _serious_?"

Color rushed into Ariela's cheeks, and she frankly looked a bit irked. Perhaps by Ariadne's not entirely inadvertent tone of condescendence.

"Well, I for one find that fascinating!" beamed Brend. "After all, it's not every day you hear that you're living in an unfulfilled prophecy."

The scholar looked bashful and awkward on account of the rather unanticipated endorsement. She muttered something unintelligible for what may have been a response of sorts, mostly into her own lap.

Ariadne frowned, pricked by jealousy, trying hard to think of something clever to say, but coming up hopelessly short. She frowned deeper.

She was brought out of her sulk by screaming horses underpinned by a shout of alarm from the driver. Next thing she knew she was far too busy trying to stay on her seat to hold onto her grudge, as the carriage came to a grinding halt.

Banging against the partition behind the guards. "Bandits! Bandits!" came the driver's frantic cry.

A quick look at each other, and the two men were dashing out of the carriage doors on either side, swords already out of their scabbards. The suddenly stunned Ariadne turned to regard the scholar; the woman looked downright shaken. She didn't quite know how to feel herself. The shift in the mood had been so sudden.

Then she made up her mind. She grinned as a flood of excitement took ahold of her. A wave of heat traveled through her, culminating at the ends of her arms. As she raised her right hand—the flame blooming at its center, immediately spreading out to the fingers—Ariela beside her recoiled with a startled yelp.

"Oh, sorry," Ariadne said. "You wait here, alright."

Ariela was nodding mutely with wide eyes.

The hazy air outside no longer felt cold at all as Ariadne shot out of the carriage. She felt as though the flame dancing at her fingertips permeated her entire being, from flesh and bone all the way down to her soul. Or rather, it was her soul whence the flame flowed out. Her very being was fire, and it would scorch whatever or whoever decided to get crosswise into its path.

She soon saw a host of such unfortunate candidates. The guards had already gotten to the first of them, each engaged with a bandit dressed in poorly upkept armor—and a more generous description could not be given of the wearers either. A rock throw from them, two more were closing in. In spite of their training, there was a good chance that the fact of them being outnumbered would have resulted in the guards' defeat, had they been without backup.

Lucky for them, they weren't.

Spurred by a rush of thrill, Ariadne bolted past the guards and their opponents. The arcane words of the Flames spell ran across mind, so ingrained that they were no longer words so much as intention manifest. She directed her will into her hands, projecting a hail of fire at the two figures advancing on the fray. In their eagerness to get to the guards, they had failed to pay her the necessary attention. That was their first fatal mistake, and incidentally also happened to be their last.

Hide shields haphazardly raised at the last moment were no obstacle to the roiling wave of death that engulfed the bandits. Their piteous shrieks found their counterpoint in Ariadne's ferocious battle cry, and she kept the unrelenting blazing cascade on them as she ran. Behind the now crumbling pair she then spied more of their brethren on the way. A curiously large ensemble for humble highway robbery, she reflected. That was, however, the extent of the critical contemplation on the matter that she was currently capable of.

Without slowing her stride, she let the Flames dwindle away. Even then, fire still held the two in its deadly embrace. They'd both gone down to their knees, hunched forwards, the screams guttering as life seeped out of them. With her strong legs, she bounded to set a foot on the other man's back while willing the energy of the Fireball into her arms. Bringing her hands close together, she let the energy build in between them. The three more thugs that had been advancing stared with their mouth wide open as she bore down on the poor dying bastard's back and leapt higher. To her they seemed to be moving through tar, as though time was slowing down around her. She felt as though she hung in the air for a long time.

With another scream, she thrusted her arms forwards, hurling a flaming orb in the midst of the enemy. They had no time to respond. The Fireball hit the ground at the middlemost woman's feet, the concussion from the explosion powerful enough to scatter their flailing bodies into three separate directions. The blast tore the air, the shockwave fluttering the tails of air bound Ariadne's robes, its heat warm on her face.

She landed before they did, coming down into a crouch with her palms on the ground and one leg extended out to the side. Where her hands touched, the frozen turf thawed with a hiss. Once she heard the bandits finally hit the ground they did not rise again.

She raised her head, gauged the empty road ahead through strands of dark hair hanging down her face. She felt bursting with energy. With life. This was what she was. This . . . _catalyst_ of divine energy. The power behind creation was, at its flip-side, also the power behind destruction. In that moment, she knew it. Had she not always known? It was a thrill better than nearly anything. It was ecstatic. Almost . . . erotic.

A wide grin spread upon her face. _What do you mean_ almost _?_

Noises from her left brought her back into the moment, and her head snapped into their direction.

 _What, more!?_

Another knot of bastards fast approaching, four of them by the looks of it. The overcast sky and the plumes of cold mist hanging in the air didn't make for the best visibility, but surely not many more could be hiding in the vapors?

She shrugged. In any case, this gave her a chance to air out different spells.

She eagerly pounced at them. A simple Sparks spell, and a burning tickle ran from the crown of her head into her right arm, making hairs stand on end. She thrust the arm out. A crackling blue-and-white hypha roared out of her palm and fingertips, striking the chest of the leftmost of the two men at the lead. He was knocked clear off his feet and sent sprawling onto the ground. Another spell and her left arm, in turn, felt as though the blood running in its veins suddenly turned to ice water. She winched a little at the sensation. Where spells of shock and fire had always felt quite natural and in their way pleasant to her, she'd never really learned to appreciate the Frost spells. Cold was simply not her element.

And yet, as her father always used to remind her, _"We can't go only doing things that please us, now can we?_ "

"No, da," she snarled to herself as she prepared to eradicate another bandit. "We sure as shit can't."

Still, whatever led to dead enemies had to be pleasing enough!

Dumbfounded fright seemed to be the closest thing to proper fury fit for a fierce, honest-folk-mugging roughneck that the other fellow could muster. It was just as well. Sneering in both disgust and vicious delight, Ariadne hurled an Ice Spike at him. With a small, decidedly unmasculine shriek, the bandit attempted to twist himself out of the way, but if anything managed to get more clearly into the sharp projectile's trajectory. It took him flush in the chest, neatly puncturing his tan leather armor. But she did not let him off so easy; barely had the surprised grunt from the first impact bubbled from between his lips when another spike planted itself neatly right beside the first. The third one plunged deep into his gut, and by then he was already doubling over. His legs then gave out like snapping stilts and he collapsed into a heap.

By this point the first man had scrambled onto his feet and was making a break for it. Not having any of that, Ariadne sent another spike after him. The man's hide helmet stood crooked on his head, revealing a soft spot in the back of his neck for the spike to pierce. With arms spread out wide, he dove to give Nirn one final embrace and was still forevermore.

Before she could begin to feel too satisfied about the short work she was making of these incompetent excuses for thugs, she felt a jab of alarm. Another man behind the two, whom she'd all but ignored till now, had leveled a bow at her, and now the string thwacked free from his fingers. No thought needed employing as, even as the arrow came loose, she shifted her intention from offence to defense, extending her right arm with the palm forward. The Sparks gave way to a ward, a white-blue glow emanating from the center of the palm. The glimmering edges of that glow formed a ring half again as tall as her, the world in front of her field of vision blurred and rippling like the air around fire. The arrow seemed to suddenly slow down as it came into the ward's sphere of influence and was directed off to the side. It clattered harmlessly onto the frozen soil.

The bandit was quick and had already nocked another arrow, posed to send it her way. Ariadne was quick herself, and shot an Ice Spike to intercept. The arrow just came loose when the paths of the two missiles met. The wooden shaft shattered in an explosion of splinters, and the pointy icicle the length of a forearm found its target in the man's exposed neck. Dropping the bow, he clutched his throat with both hands, plummeting to his knees.

Disinterested in the man's death rattles, Ariadne quickly cast about. _Now where'd the last one get to?_

The answer flashed in the right of her peripheral vision. She had just enough time to hop out of the way, as the moderately pretty-faced woman with an absolutely hideous grimace on it cast a burning, hissing projectile at her. The Firebolt exploded right under her raised foot, and although the energy of the spell was far weaker than that of the Fireball, it still pushed her forward and made her lose her balance. Pitching, she caught herself with her forearms and somersaulted back onto her feet.

 _Fighting fire with fire, eh?_ Of course she should have known that at least one of 'em was a mage.

Drained in Magica, she did not turn to fight back but carried on at a run. A hiss behind her back, and she swiveled to one side. Explosion a few feet ahead. Spotting a wide enough tree, she dove behind it, pressing her back against its bole. A concussion shook the spruce as a Fireball hit it, and Ariadne's teeth clattered together. A rain of needles and cones fell on the ground and on her, one thick cone hitting her painfully across the head. _Ow,_ _motherf_ —

Just a couple more moments to gather her _magical breath_ as it were. There was no further offence, and neither could she hear any footfalls from the direction of the last bandit. She closed her eyes and breathed steadily, waiting for the Magica to regenerate. The will of her soul, was it? Now that she thought of it in practice, it did seem to make sense. If was as if—

Her eyes snapped open, and she frowned. _Agh, I'm letting her preaching get to me! Next thing I know I'm locked away in my rooms, squinting at words scribbled by dead folks!_

She needed to focus.

Judging herself recharged enough, she peered out from behind the tree. Then immediately retreated her head as another flaming hurdle sailed by. It burned at her face. And it kindled her ire.

Willing fire into her right and thunder into her left hand, she again pressed herself on the tree trunk. A Fireball built into her palm, and she surged out of her hiding. As soon as she was out, she let the orb loose, aimed a hint right of the bandit, while at the same directed a string of lighting at the woman's left. As intended, the bandit attempted a reflective panic evasion of the faster lighting, winding up directly in the Fireball's blazing path. As she was thrown back by the concussion, Ariadne extended the Sparks spell and, screaming, pressed after the reeling bandit with lightning tearing out both of her outstretched hands.

The bandit was thrown against a tree, where she stayed pinned by the thunderous assault. Still screaming, Ariadne marched to stand right close to the woman, keeping the unrelenting snapping and hissing deluge directed on her twitching, dying body. The woman's eyes had rolled up into her skull, and spittle was turning into foam at the corners of her convulsing mouth. Her skin was starting to change color. The smell of burnt hair filled Ariadne's nostrils.

Finally, she relented and released the surge. Only the smaller sparks about her hands remained. The bandit's smoking corpse slowly slid down the bole to finally slump into a sitting position.

She cast about, then let her eyes settle on the two guards. They stood with their arms hanging down, swords and shields dangling against their legs, staring at her. Thurd's eyes were wide, his jaw hanging open. Looking like an utter buffoon. Brend managed to look slightly less foolishly dumbfounded, but not by much. And to accompany his wonder, one corner of his mouth quirked faintly, which together with the gleam in his eye managed to salvage his general comportment onto the side of charming.

And at least they'd both managed to slay their adversaries without apparent injury.

Behind the guards, Ariela's head peeked out the carriage's door, and the sheer shock across her plain features made even Thurd look dignified in comparison. And gods only knew where the driver was hiding.

"I think that's all of them," Ariadne said, letting the last of the magic seep back into herself.

"For now, at least," said Brend.

"Yeah, my thoughts exactly." She strode towards the carriage. "Better get going before any more decide to show up. Driver!" At her cry, a frightened head popped out from behind the driver's seat. "We're clear. Better get a move on before that changes." She glanced at Arcana behind the car. The horse was a picture of unconcern. Ariadne smiled.

Shortly, as soon as the shaken driver got his act together and was back behind the reins, they were moving again. Ariadne leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes. Her heart was still racing, the blood pumping wildly in her veins, feeling like pure energy. The top of her head throbbed, but it was by no means unpleasant. More akin to the afterglow of a carnal climax.

Put simply, she'd never felt more _right_!

She knew that she was wearing a wild grin as she opened her eyes and let them sweep across the others. "Well, wasn't that fun!"

Brend sniffed in amusement. "I guess you could put it in those words."

Thurd, on the other hand, wore a poorly concealed scowl of dismay. Him Ariadne once more ignored.

Ariela, as before, looked the silliest of them all. She stared at Ariadne as though this was the first time she saw her. In her eyes was something similar to superstitious awe.

"What?" Ariadne said.

"That was . . . bloody _amazing_! Like—wow! You, like, just took care of, like, _nine_ of them—all by yourself!"

Ariadne shrugged in false modesty. "Ah, well. You know. It wasn't as if they were terribly competent or anything."

"Yeah, but . . . I mean . . . just— _wow_! I've never seen anything even close to that!"

 _Little wonder, seeing as you've wasted your life indoors arguing with ghosts_. Ariadne shrugged again. "What can I say? I'm a natural."

"I'll say! It's like you're . . . glowing or something. I can somehow sense this great, raw power emanating from you."

Ariadne glanced at Brend to see whether the man was seeing it as the scholar was. There was definitely something like admiration in his eyes, but the damned man's ever cool composure did not reveal anything decisive. In her current state, she would have liked to just claw it out of him! Straddle him and impale herself on his—

"It's like," the scholar went on, "you have this raw skill about you. And I know you eschew scholarship, and that's fine; but if you could just bring yourself to dedicate some time to theoretical understanding to pair with the practical stuff, who knows how far you could go! Now, I may be no mage, but even I can see that you've got real talent, and I would hate to see it go to waste if you don't explore your full potential."

"Yes, mother. Alright. I promise I'll think about it."

"I'm just saying," Ariela replied. "You can mock me all you want, I don't care. But what I'm suggesting would really only be for your own advantage."

"Yeah, well. Maybe when I'm older. Like, when I get to your age."

Ariela frowned. "I've only a couple years on you."

"Just like I said."

Thurd then chimed in. "Well, I just think it's sort of odd there were so many bandits against us. Not your usual size of a highway raid, for sure."

"Oh, so you're a thinker now?" Ariadne snapped. "No, I thought not. You're a guard. So stop trying to _think_ and do what you're paid for— _guard_!"

Thurd blinked at her, stunned, and Ariela also seemed put off by the other woman's sudden outburst. Truth be told, even Brend looked just a tiny bit perturbed. Maybe it was still the far end of the battle lust, but something about their stares greatly pleased her. _That's right, you heard me. Just because I'm young doesn't mean I'm anybody's fool, and you all better keep that in mind! Calisto would be proud of me—I just know it._

In any case, she was not in the mood to listen to any counterarguments, so she made obvious with her body language that she was done with them for now. With a small smile on her lips, then, she leaned back down with her arms crossed under her breasts and closed her eyes. The slow ebbing away of the magica and of the thrill of the action would be enjoyable enough to succor the remaining ride. Now, if only everyone would be so kind as not to bother her with their inane babble, she could enjoy it in peace.


	4. Swamp Things

**Swamp Things**

It was the smell of spoiled eggs which first told her they were nearing the terminus of their ride. As unwelcome as the stench was, Ariadne still greeted with great relief the prospect of finally getting out of this wobbling cart of misery. Dignity alone kept her from attending to her aching buttocks, and surreptitious shifting around on the damned hard bench only went so far. What she really would have liked was to foist her hands between the wood and her flesh; but with these men watching, such a feat was obviously unthinkable. She especially didn't want to give Thurd there any additional reason to think about her butt.

The carriage finally came to a creaking stop, and not a moment too soon. She was about to pounce right out, when Thurd impertinently motioned her back on her seat. "We'll go first and see that everything's clear." Without waiting for objections, he stepped outside.

Ariadne could hardly believe it, too slighted to come up with a sufficient retort. How dare this . . . _peasant_ push her around! If anyone it should have been _her_ to ensure everyone's safety! _After all, you fellows killed, what, one and a half bandits between the two of you while I took care of the rest, and suddenly_ I'm _the one who needs nannying?_

Brend, obviously well reading her body language, slid to sit in the place in front of her, offering her something like a placating smile. "It's just our job, you see. We're _required_ to go first. Please don't take it personally."

Just seeing his lovely face right close to her melted the indignation from her mind. The afterglow of the fight had yet to fully recede, and she would've definitely been in the mood for some rough-and-tumble right then. _Oh, it only it were just the two of us—I'd give_ you _something to take personally!_

But she let none of her feeling show and instead kept a cool poise. She donned her best coquettish expression, and breathed, "Oh, I understand perfectly" in her best _femme-fatale_ , reaching out a hand to rest on his leg, perhaps a little further above the knee than was strictly appropriate. "After all, what lady in her right mind could snub a strong man looking after her?" To complete the admittedly silly display, she gave the leg a quick little squeeze before retreating her hand.

The guard's self-confident grin had faltered, and he stared at her in the most satisfyingly speechless manner. His face even colored!

Brend swallowed and simply nodded. Something in the way that he then clambered outside bespoke utmost urgency. Staring at the closed door after him Ariadne smirked, thoroughly pleased with herself.

When she turned to glance at Ariela, she found the scholar frowning at her peculiarly.

"What?"

"How do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Well . . . you know. _That_."

"Course is clear!"

Whatever it was that the scholar was on about, had to wait. As little as she cared for the little man, Thurd's call was all Ariadne needed right then. She glanced quickly at the still bemused scholar, then pushed open the door. She scrunched her nose as the swampland air wafted at her. Unsurprisingly, the reek was even worse outside: as if the marshes courteously greeter her by farting right into her face.

And if the place was an all-out assault on the nose, it was no delight to the eye, either. Craggy terrain of scant vegetation hugged by ubiquitous mists, surrounding a profoundly unfriendly-looking body of water. Thin spruces seemed to be the only trees hardy enough to survive the infertile landscape, as every other form of tree growing sparsely on the rocky terrain stood dead, their gray branches sticking every which way like the hairs on the heads of standing corpses. The only other vegetation as far as the eye could see were tall tufts of pale grasses, swaying with barely held hostility in the faint breeze. The fetid water in the swamp was murky in color, dully reflecting the overcast skies and the gauze of white haze slowly creeping about its surface. The water was punctuated here and there by islands bearing identical dispiriting properties to the mainland.

Ariadne placed her palms on her hips and stretched her back, then flexed her stiff legs. _This is ridiculous_ , she though. _I'm getting as rickety as a damned old lady. It's all that cursed sitting around I'm doing these days_. There would have to be change in that, and soon.

She ambled over to Arcana, to run a hand over the horse's velvety black hair. The animal acknowledged her presence but minimally, yet gracefully accepted the attention. Poor thing seemed to be struggling to maintain its self-esteem being conveyed around in such an undignified fashion. She could not blame her.

Ariela also stopped by her horse, Lucky, to stroke its mane and to mumble some words at it. But the woman seemed somehow half-hearted about it, as though too distracted to focus. "Alright," she then said, addressing her words to Ariadne. "Get on with it, shall we?" The scholar then addressed the guards. "You two can just wait here. I don't think there are many dangers lurking about. I can't predict how long it'll take, but we shouldn't be all day. Ariadne? You can also stay behind if you'd prefer. I think I've got this."

Ariadne glanced at Brend, then at Thurd. "Yeah, I think I'll just come along. After all, I've got nothing better to do." _Well, I might, were there just one guard . . ._

A shack that had seen its heyday sometime in the last century huddled at the edge of the water. Smoke snaked steadily out of the surprisingly intact looking chimney, and the smell of it helped a little with the swamp gases, though not by much. The two women walked over to the front door, which looked sturdier than the actual building. A burglar would likely have the least trouble by just breaking through the wall.

"Who lives here?" Ariadne asked.

Ariela banged on the door. "A shaman."

"A _what_?"

"It's open!"

They traded looks, and then Ariela pulled on the outwards opening door, the heavy hinges groaning.

A whole different pattern of scents greeted them inside the shack. Ariadne thought she could recognize at least half a dozen different herbs all at once, and these combined with half a dozen others that she did not know; and to add its own little touch was the unmistakable tang of decaying wood. As if to counterpoint the heady wealth of fragrance, the furnishing of the place followed an artless, austere scheme: a single dinner table and chairs; another, long and narrow table by the wall to their left, cluttered with vials, jars, and herbs. Towards the back on the right, a simple fireplace with a humble armchair upholstered in worn pear green cloth in front of it.

At the far end, a berobed, hooded figure hunched over an alchemy lab, busy working the mortar and pestle. "Just one moment, if you please." The figure's voice over the clink and crunch of his work was sibilant yet kindly. "Do step in from the cold, for Hist's sake, and I'll be with you shortly."

Ariela pulled the door shut behind them. A gust of draft juddered the various objects hanging from the rafters and on the walls before dying out. They stood there waiting for some dozen heartbeats, neither saying a word, while their eyes adjusted to the dim inside light.

Not soon after, the figure gave a satisfied grunt and set down his tools. Turning about, he peeled back his hood and took a moment to study his guests. The expression on the old Argonian's weathered reptilian features corresponded with his voice: warm and eager, yet with a sharp point to his gaze which could have been construed as more than simple curiosity.

"Yes, yes, welcome!" The slightly hunched figure padded over to them, bare feet slapping on the spare hardwood floor. "I've been expecting you!"

"I sent a letter—" Ariela said.

"Yes, yes! I read it, of course I did." He stopped to squint each of them in turn. "Why, lovely young ladies—what a truly unprecedented occasion! Not many visitors in general come by here, you know."

 _Why ever not?_

"Hopefully we're not intruding . . ." Ariela said.

"By no means, by no means! You are most welcome here. So . . . well met!" The Argonian stuck out a hand, leathery webbing in between the fingers. "I am known by the name Deelith-Thix, but you can just call me Deelith. Or Deel if that's more comfortable. I am an alchemist and herbalist, mostly, and occasionally something of a . . . well, I suppose you might call me a healer. From Black Marsh originally, as you might guess from the inflection. Been living out here for a good couple decades now."

 _Tell us your entire life story, now won't you._

The scholar took the proffered hand. "Pleased to meet you, eh, Deelith. I am Ariela. A scholar of the Scholar's Guild of Tamriel. I have been staying in Skyrim, at the College of Winterhold, for a couple years now. This here is Ariadne. She is my . . . well, she currently serves as my temporary assistant, but she is a mage student at the College."

Letting go of Ariela's hand, Deelith then reached for Ariadne's. With an expression she found at once very familiar and yet somehow foreign, he said, "Lovely to make your acquaintance."

Grasping the surprisingly warm hand, Ariadne blinked stupidly. "Yes," she said.

On the whole, the Argonian's general disposition did fall onto the side of kindly. Well, as kindly as was possible for a six foot tall green-and-brown skinned reptile with a line of spikes jutting out the length of each jawline and spines growing out of the back of its head, sharp ridges over and under the admittedly unsettling lizard-eyes. But overlooking those qualities, he seemed quite innocuous.

"Well, then," he said. "Please, take a seat."

Ariela did as suggested, but Ariadne hesitated. Her behind was still recovering from the trip, and those hard chairs were not looking terribly inviting. In fact, they looked more or less like entry-level torture devices at the moment. "I'm actually fine standing," she said.

"You may, of course, do as you see fit. So," the Argonian grunted as he sat down opposite to Ariela, "Like I said, not many visitors wander out here. As I recall from our correspondence, you were even rather eager to come! Now, that cannot but arouse my natural curiosity."

"Yes, there are in fact matters that I would much like to discuss with you"

To which Deelith then replied something else.

Staring at him, at the absurdly large, wedge-shaped saurian head poking out of a more or less hominoid trunk, that wide mouth splitting the bottom of his sizable snout, a question suddenly popped to mind: how did two of these creatures kiss? _Did_ they kiss? She knew that they mated at least, so that meant they bred pretty much the same as everybody; but would it have even been possible to fit two of those mouths, replete with sharp teeth, together without serious injury?

 _And speaking of breeding, how's that work?_ _I mean, it's not as if it's difficult to imagine or anything, but I don't wanna make any assumptions . . . And what's an Argonian cock like, anyway?_

A little too detailed, she realized.

Ariadne rubbed at her brow. Damn it but she was still tired and still had the unresolved post-magic tickle plaguing her loins and _damn it_ but she was getting frustrated and—well, now she was starting to get images in her head that she did not particularly care to entertain.

So she decided to take the safe route and try to concentrate on something else.

She walked over to study the various alchemy stuffs on the narrow table. Nothing terribly fascinating at first glance. Vials and bottles holding fluids of various color and consistency, different raw ingredients in jars. Then her attention was drawn to a jar filled with colorless liquid with a pallid thing floating in it. At a closer look, the thing was revealed to be fetus of some animal, the umbilical cord and placenta still intact. She leaned in for a closer look. At such an early stage, it could have been of any species. Yet there was something very familiar about it. Surely it couldn't have been . . .?

"Are you into alchemy, young lady?"

Ariadne glanced over her shoulder, realizing it was her that he was addressing. "Who, me?" She gave her head a shake, straightening. "Nah, never felt the draw."

"Yes," mused the lizard. "You'll feel it, alright, when it decides to call on you."

Ariadne glance over again with one slightly tilted brow. " _Decides_?"

"Yessss!" the Argonian hissed—or that, at least, was how she liked to imagine his reply sounding. "It's a calling if ever there was one. To be invited to partake of the eternal mysteries of nature: why, there's hardly a greater or more singular honor!"

"If you say so," she muttered.

"I imagine," chimed in the scholar, in such tones as though to swiftly extenuate Ariadne's somewhat less than gracious ones, "the task of decrypting ever novel effects of different ingredients to be a fascinating one!" The small woman then seemed to wither somewhat under the Deelith's suddenly avid gaze. "Er, or at least that's what I've been told."

Deelith stared at her for a moment longer. "Aye, you have been told correctly. And do you yourself, perchance, dabble?"

"Only very little. But I do hope to—"

"It is indeed only a small portion of alchemy," he cut in, as though not even having listened to her reply, "which focuses on the creation of potions and elixirs. Alas, it is the portion which gets the most attention." He considered. "On second thought, perhaps that is for the better."

"Do you mean—?"

"Precisely! I speak, of course, of what you might call the Great Work. And, I hasten to add, in this it is no different in its most essential purpose than is the great art of magic."

Deelith sought out Ariadne's gaze as he said this, as if there's was some particular lesson in his words that she was supposed to take. She didn't much care for it, so she tried to quickly backtrack the conversation. "How is it that they figure this stuff out to begin with?" she asked. "The effects of this plant or that?" _Do they, perhaps, simply taste them? And if so, I wonder at the steepness of the casualties?_

"How?" Deelith said. "Why, they _ask_ them of course!"

She stared. _Right . . ._

Ariela, acting as though nothing in the slightest off-kilter had just been suggested, said, "And it isn't as if plants are the only, or indeed the most potent, type of ingredient."

"No," agreed Deelith slowly, slanting a shrewd look at the scholar. "They most certainly are not. And now, I feel, we are approaching the main subject matter of today, yes?"

Ariela suddenly looked discomfited as Deelith-Thix nailed her with his stare. And Ariadne could scarcely blame the woman: the Argonian's vertical-pupiled eyes, though twinkling with the quaint jauntiness of an affable elder, yet held something extraordinarily cold and hard in them.

"Oh, but where are my manners!" Deelith abruptly exclaimed, and stood. "Would you lasses care for something to eat?"

He puttered off without waiting for a reply, and the women shared a look. Ariadne realized then that she'd not eaten since the morning, and only now did her stomach seem to be alerted to this. Yes, something to bite would not be too bad at all.

"Let's see here. Aha!"

As the Argonian returned holding a long trencher, Ariadne's stomach made a somersault.

"Here we go." Deelith set the trencher down on the table for his guest to mutely stare at. It was laden with whole, by the looks of them still ungutted, fishes. "Eat at your leisure," he said as he reseated himself, "there's plenty more in the pond!"

 _What, you mean the swamp?_

Ariadne had to look at him really carefully to ascertain that the lizard wasn't simply messing with them. Nope, seemed entirely genuine. The feeling in her belly had turned to something else by this point.

The women shared another look.

"Um," Ariela said, audibly straining to keep her voice neutral, "I am actually fine, thank you."

"Really? Well, if you're quite sure. And you?"

"Yeah," Ariadne replied in a drawl, "I'm good as well. We, uh, just ate before we came."

"Ah. Well, then, suit yourselves." And Deelith grabbed one pinkish fish by the tail—frankly, Ariadne would have not been the least surprised if it had still been wriggling—and dropped it entire into his gaping maw. Skin and little bones crunched as he chewed, a most gratified expression on his face.

Ariadne could not keep the distaste from her face as she watched. Luckily the Argonian paid her no mind at the moment.

After finishing his third fish, Deelith swept the trencher aside, placing his hands on the table in front of him with the fingers pressed together. "So," he said. "Souls?

"Uh, yes," said Ariela. "That is, broadly speaking, the subject matter which brought me here."

"Truly a broad one at that."

She sighed with a weary smile. "Tell me about it."

Ariadne decided to make a concerted effort to focus on the conversation this time around. She did her best to adjust her disposition as if she truly cared.

"Alright, then," said Deelith. "Where shall we begin?"

"How about in here." Ariela reached down to fish a book out of her knapsack, slid it over the table. "This volume has been more or less driving me quite mad this past year or so."

Deelith read the title. " _The Infinite Void of the Soul_. Hmm, now isn't that interesting. What is it?" He flipped the book open and started to casually turn the pages.

"One of Urag gro-Shub's—the College's librarian, as you may know—later translations. And as it happens, the original untranslated work was something that Herennius once sent me to retrieve. Now, that is quite a story in itself. Suffice it to say that I never in a million years could have pulled it off without help from some very formidable companions."

Deelith was nodding. "And what does it contain?" He closed the book and slid it back over.

"There's really no simple answer to that." Ariela in turn started flipping the pages as she spoke. "Esoteric, largely nigh incomprehensible ruminations on the nature of the soul. They seem more or less disconnected from each other. Then there are parts best described as poetry. And then a short section of what appear to be ritualistic spells of some kind. Herennius speculated that they have something to do with capturing souls, and there's a good chance that this is the purpose that the book was mainly being used for." The scholar's hand remained poised over the book for a few seconds as she stopped on a page taken almost entirely by a stylized sketch of an eye. She frowned at the drawing momentarily, then continued to turn the pages.

"Hum," the Argonian said. "Interesting. In what language was the original, by the way—and who wrote it?"

"This is, I think, is truly the most fascinating part," Ariela said. "The original was mostly in ancient Nordic. And Herennius held it that, although the book has no ascribed author, there are good reasons to assume it was written by Shalidor the Arch-Mage himself. He also thought it likely that parts of the book are ancient texts salvaged and compiled by Shalidor, and other parts the man's own notes and thoughts. The trouble lies in the fact that it's more or less impossible to tell those two apart in the text itself. And to make matters even more complicated, there's a good chance that parts of the book have been acquired through channeling of some description. So by no means an easy text to decipher."

"What is the significance of it, then?"

"Now, that there is the mystery!"

"In which you thought that I might be able to help."

"That was my hope," Ariela conceded.

"I see. Well. I fear that I may cause you a disappointment. But I can always try." He narrowed his eyes, as though visited by a sudden recollection. "The Void, you say? That, at least, does bring something to mind . . ."

The scholar smiled. "Sithis."

"Aye. Yet, not many utter the name with a smile on their lips. Not even those, perhaps _especially_ those, who worship him."

"I certainly do not." Ariela hesitated, then added, "Do you?"

Deelith's wry, closed-mouthed grin might have indicated being impressed by her forthrightness. "Worship? No. Respect?" As he bared his sharp teeth, Ariadne wondered whether it was still a smile. "You bet your scaleless hide that I do!"

"The Hist . . ."

"Aye," Deelith said. "That is what it all comes down to . . . with my people. They have ever—"

Now that Ariadne thought of it, did lizards even _have_ cocks? Surely Argonians at least had to. Could be it was one of those kinds that cats had—more or less retractable. Was it perhaps scaly like the rest of them? Gods forbid, maybe there was more than one!

She caught herself, gave her head an imperceptible shake. _The Hist, the Hist!_

"Now, correct me if I'm wrong," Ariela started.

"Count on it."

"I'll summarize the best I can. The Hist—the race of sentient trees now more or less confined to Black Marsh, and which are of utmost importance to the local society—as you just now indicated, are considered by the Argonians to be the source or all of life. As hatchlings, the Argonians drink the tree's sap—otherwise also known by its profound mystical properties—and continue to do so during their infancy. The sap, then, is thought to give the young one its soul, and when that selfsame individual dies, his or her soul travels back to the Hist. Now, do I have it right by this point?"

Deelith nodded. "All correct thus far, if not a tad simplistic. No, no, don't get me wrong. I should not expect an outsider to have any more complete a picture. In fact, this is the way it should be. But do go on."

"Er, well, I would stop here for a minute if that's alright."

"By all means. I can see if I can clarify things for you without betraying any of my people's ancestral mysteries."

 _Oh, like your cocks?_

Without thinking, Ariadne slapped herself.

The two heads swung to her, perplexed expressions on their faces.

"Oh, sorry," she said, feeling her face redden at the same rapid rate that she felt herself shrink. "Mosquitoes." She waved her hand about herself for emphasis.

"Anyway", Ariela continued hesitatingly as, after regarding the other woman with something akin to concern, she turned back to face the Argonian, "this is where I must confess to some confoundedness on my part."

"I have some idea of what you refer to."

"Yes. Well, let's start with something that we all agree on. All beings as a rule have souls, correct?"

"Correct."

"And depending on that creature's level of sentience, the different souls are considered to be of varying magnitude and power. But regardless, the soul is what makes flesh alive, and in this sense no one creature is terribly different from another."

"This we agree on. I cannot see how it could be otherwise."

"Yes, but the Argonian sapling is already sentient when born, right?"

Deelith smiled. "Indeed."

Ariela spread out her hands. "But if that is so, then the newborn Argonian must perforce already _have_ a soul! Whence does the soul given by the sap then come?"

"I have a feeling you have some thoughts about this?"

"Indeed I do. With your permission?"

"I promise I shall not take offence. Quite the contrary in fact!"

"Alright," said the scholar. "Well. Let us maintain that the sapling already possesses a soul, a life force, and that the Hist also gives them one. So, following this logic, any given Argonian should have _two_ souls instead of just one. Unless, of course, the soul provided by the Hist somehow replaces the original lizard soul. In theory, that could be possible—a stronger soul pushing away the weaker one and taking its place. But let's entertain the idea that Argonians indeed do have two souls. In my mind, this revolutionary suggestion puts into serious question the whole idea of a soul in the first place, at least the way that it is taught."

"And why is that?"

" _Two souls_!" Ariela exclaimed with both her arms and eyes wide. "That pretty much breaks the whole system!"

The Argonian looked simultaneously thoughtful and shrewd. "Aye," he mused. "Perhaps you are right."

"Do you have any comment on this?"

"Well," he said slowly. "I do sympathize with your concern. Breaking the system? Aye, that would not bode well with most people. Well, I take that back. _Most people_ would simply not care one way or another, nor change any of their habitual patterns of belief and thought—well . . . 'thought'. But in any case, those with a vested interest in attempting to dominate the universe by way of their concepts and systems and what have you . . . aye, they would be most unhappy. I must say I'm rather impressed. No one that I know of has ever brought up this point of view before. But whether I'm more impressed by your insightfulness or everyone else's foolishness—why, I could not possibly say."

Ariadne frowned. Right then the old Argonian did not sound very kindly at all.

Ariela met his tirade with a sardonic grin. "Wise, if severe, words. And particularly true of humans, I regret to say."

Deelith sighed. "Alas, I regret that I am not yet wise enough to countenance the full immensity of human stupidity." He then smiled. "No offence."

The scholar's returning smile was understanding. "None taken."

 _Speak for yourself! He just singlehandedly insulted our whole genus. You're just gonna take it—from a damned_ gecko _?_

"I hasten to add," Deelith said, "that your species is by no means alone with this tendency. But perhaps, young and relatively short-lived that you are, you have somewhat unique challenges in this regard."

Ariela winced, nodding acquiescingly.

"And yet, I fear that this is simply the curse of mortality. After all, the history of mortals can easily be characterized as an unending battle against the fundamental truths of their circumstances—fueled by the ever-resilient effort to replace what _is_ with what they think _should_ be. With occasional success, I may add. Yet one does well to remember that even a man who has turned banging his head against concrete walls into his life's work may also occasionally come across a weak spot. This will of course only encourage him to continue on his doomed path—taking it, as he will, as a sort of proof that the path is indeed anything but!"

"Sad but true," Ariela acceded.

The Argonian aired a tired sigh. "But a war against nature can only be lost. Though, by the time that the lesson is finally learned, I fear that it comes hopelessly late."

"Nature, yes," Ariela said. "Aptly put. Including, perhaps, the nature of ourselves?"

"Aye. Absolutely. Including—in fact, _especially_ —all the nasty stuff." He shook his head, smiling. "I have to say, I can hardly believe how long it has been since I've met someone who understood that—or indeed was willing to even give it any thought. Makes me glad, at least, that one such a person decided to visit me."

Ariela's face colored. And boy, but did that silly little woman look proud all of a sudden!

 _Since you're such soulmates now—pun intended—perhaps I should just leave you to it?_

"I appreciate it," Ariela said coyly. "And I may add that it's a rare privilege to get the chance to sit down with one such as you, with such extensive understanding of the most profound—and the most _fascinating_ —mysteries of Aurbis!"

 _Oh, that's it. These two are definitely gonna kiss—any moment now!_

The Argonian gave a small, humble bow. "I am flattered."

 _Mind if I just vomit on the floor here?_

After a short silence, during which the two no doubt were dreaming up yet more backslapping platitudes to pile on each other, Ariela cleared her throat. "Anyway, perhaps this would be a good time to address the other subject matter I was curious about. The one I already alluded to."

"Sithis."

"Sithis. Now, if I have it right—"

"Please," Deelith interrupted. "May I?"

"By all means."

"Let me tell you about Sithis, far as I see it. Yes, it is true that the Argonians consider the Hist to be the source of life. But it's also true that they consider Sithis to be the source of all existence—the true creator of Aurbis. And though this belief truly sticks in the craw of the elven dogma, it is nonetheless a view accepted by many others as well. After all, what is Anu next to Padomay? Static and dead. While Padomay brings about change, and without change there cannot be life. And as Padomay then gave birth to his soul, Sithis, this then was the birth of what we call 'mind'."

"Mind?"

"Mind. Now, I'm afraid that I must risk disappointing you. But from this point on I am no longer willing to discuss the aspects of the mysteries of the Argonian faith. I am sorry."

Ariela's expression fell. "Ah."

"However," Deelith said. "What I can do, is talk to you a little about what my teacher, Gin-Jah the Unhinged, a woman considered widely to number among the wisest in all of Argonia, taught me about Sithis. Yes, I can do this, for as well respected as she may have been, her teachings by no means describe the mainstream views of our people. She was a mystic unlike anyone I've ever met, with a vision so deep and personal as to unavoidably defy all prescribed dogma."

"Please do!"

"Now, please keep in mind that there is little methodization in what I speak of. Gin-Jah only ever taught things that her visions, her personal insights, granted her—bolstered, of course, by her own reason. But this is nothing you win debates at universities with."

"I understand."

"So. The sapling may get his soul from the Hist. But even more fundamentally, he, as well as every other living being, gets his soul, his Will, from Sithis, the true creator and source. He is both the giver and taker of life. The Lord of Life, the Lord of Death. From him everything flows, to him everything returns. He is, in short, synonymous with the Void, the mysterious and impenetrable emptiness at the root of all being."

"So," Ariela interjected. "If there are Daedric Princes, does this make Sithis the Daedric King?"

Deelith shook his head. "We say _he_ , but that doesn't really do reality justice. In reality, if I have understood this correctly, Sithis is not supposed to be so much a singular entity, as he is sort of an abstraction of all entities, the superstructure of entity-ness itself."

"I guess that makes sense."

 _No, it bloody well doesn't!_

"Sense, exactly. Sense. Reason. Sentiment. Gin-Jah most typically named the root of it _shoyul_ , a Dunmeri word of Daedric origin meaning 'mind'. Or sometimes she would call it _shoyul-daelkhun,_ meaning 'mind-heart', which really captures its true significance better. You could also simply say soul, but in a much broader sense. For the sake of clarity, I shall call it Mind.

"In any case, Gin-Jah would say that since Sithis is the source of Mind, he himself _is_ Mind. And so we can know him because, in essence, we in our individual minds are all fragments of him. But here is where her teaching took a rather radical turn, and to this day I don't quite know what to make of it. See, she believed that what she called the 'inert part' of us, the part which is Anuic in origin, which extends back to the stasis of Anu, is nothing but dead weight. The only reason, she believed, that we fear Oblivion, that we fear the Void, why we see them as a threat to us, is because this dead weight in us blinds our sights. The Aedric components of your being, the static and non-dynamic aspects, therefore should be scoured away and shed like an old skin, and then allow Oblivion swallow everything—for it is all that is active and therefore all that is truly alive. Once this happened, there would be no Oblivion either anymore, and indeed no boundaries—only eternal Sithis, the eternal void of permanent transformation, nevermore any one shape to anything. And yet, still one substance, the Mind. But undivided, unhindered. Free."

There was a good stretch of silence then, as Ariela seemed to be taking it all in. Then she whistled softly. "Well. That is quite the head-trip, I have to say."

Deelith grinned. "In a manner of speaking. And does it answer any of your questions?"

"Not sure. I think it answers _some_ questions, or at least purports to, but I'm not sure it answers mine."

"What is it that you want to know?"

"It's simple. Or not really. What I want to know is: what really _is_ a soul?"

Deelith sighed. "Then I'm afraid that I might be wasting your time. I do not know."

Ariela smiled. "I didn't come here for a definitive answer. I did not expect you to possess one. I'm a scholar, not a priest. We are not looking for the comforting truth, we're looking for the _true_ truth. And so the only way to achieve that is to take all points of view into account. Now, I was told there was this fellow thought by many to be the foremost Argonian in Skyrim to know about these things, and who has studied them in practice for decades. And this is why I'm here now. And as of yet I have seen no reason to regret my coming."

The Argonian inclined his head. "I am glad."

"Nevertheless, I find myself perplexed."

"Over?"

"Over the relationship between the Hist and Sithis. No, no. I shan't ask you to disclose any more of your ancestral secrets. But let us for the sake of argument assume that your teacher had it right: about Sithis, about everything. Then if Sithis is this _Mind_ , something you mention could also be characterized as the soul, then what is passed down to the hatchling from the Hist? And if that is Mind, what was it that was there to begin with? Have Argonians two souls or what?"

Deelith pondered on her words for some moments, then nodded his head contemplatively. "Excellent questions. Difficult ones, and to the heart. Aye."

"It's quite alright to simply admit to your ignorance you know."

His eyes flashed. "Goading me, girl? Hah! I like you better and better with every minute that wears on!"

Ariela smiled. "I am pleased to hear that."

"Yes," Deelith mused. "Well, I have some things I can say at least. Your surmise about the Argonians having two souls? Yes, that is indeed astute, I believe. But I'm thinking, perhaps other mortals are not so different in that regard?"

"Truly? Do tell me more."

"Well, perhaps 'soul _s_ 'would be exaggerating the matter a bit. Perhaps we indeed need another word altogether for that which resides within the sapling, and just perhaps, other living beings in their earlier stages."

"What word would that be?"

"Now that there is a question I can provide you with something of an answer to, or at least a suggestion. But first consider this: are you familiar with concepts such as the _Soul Shriven_ , and the _Vestige_?"

Ariela seemed to blanch slightly. "It's certainly been a while since I have read anything about the topic, but now we've moved to a subject matter even more disturbing than Sithis, if indeed that is conceivable. We're talking about Coldharbour. Of the Daedric Prince of Domination, Molag Bal."

"Aye. And I agree. He is a more disturbing topic by far; though there are certainly those who say he is but the most representative child of Sithis himself. I tend to disagree there. But I digress. We needn't linger upon the dread Lord of Rape unnecessarily long, but suffice it to point out that when deprived of their Anuic souls, the Soul Shriven abducted to Coldharbour receive a poor imitation called the Vestige, and this enables them to continue their existence. Now, that at least says to me that it is not only soul in the usual sense that enables a being to— What, I said something funny?"

Ariela looked to wipe the sudden smile from her lips. "Pardon, it was involuntary. Just, you said _Anuic_ , more or less contradicting the assertion about our soul, or mind, being Sithis-given. That is all. Sorry about the derailing. Please, do go on."

"Hmm, no, no. You've got something there. _Xhuth_ , but it's nice to talk to not an utter simpleton for a change. Eh, no offence to you."

Ariadne blinked. It had been her whom he'd addressed with the last. "Yeah. Sure. Uh, no problem." _It's not as if we even talked. Now that I think of it, you were just eating me up with your eyes, just like you chomped down that disgusting half-dead fish, you . . . swamp-creep!_

"So, eh where was I? Right, so the Mind-Shriven—"

" _Soul_ -Shriven," Ariadne corrected, if only to have some kind of . . . well, whatever. She felt the need to have at least some word in this headless, pointless farce of a "conversation." Even if the topic was utter gobbledygook.

"Same thing," the Argonian said with a shrug. "Words are simply words. But yes, I think the existence of the Soul-Shriven would suggest that the soul might be one thing, regardless of its ultimate source, and the thing which precedes it, well—might we consider it sort of a _seat_ of the soul? I personally choose to call it simply _psyche_. In theory, at least, these two could then be separated. And then what of the body, you might say!" He chuckled. "Oh, complications, delicious complications!"

The lizard chuckled some more, and Ariela grinned as if he'd just cracked one world-class royalty of a kneeslapper. Clearly the silly little chit and this amphibiotic weirdo were like two deranged peas in a pod of intellectual self-congratulation!

"To get serious, however," Deelith said, "I find myself refreshingly challenged. So ingrained in my own way of looking at things, I've simply never been forced to reflect on my views overmuch. Or to indeed even ask myself: what are my views in the first place? Never fear, however, I'm still in no danger of becoming any kind of systemiser, or indeed a very organized philosopher at all, not to even speak of a cleric in the sense that they are found within the Aedric religions, for that is simply not who I am—but nevertheless, I enjoy being challenged, shaken out of my ossified ways. And while I may be flattering myself, I shall still add that this is a lamentably rare quality in anyone. People are simply too . . . what is the word?"

"Self-obsessed?"

"Precisely! Far too much in love with their own preciously held false ideas!"

Ariela sighed. "Once more, I cannot but agree with you."

"The average man, or indeed woman, takes his self to be the most paramount object in the world. And so it is—in the same sense that, in the world of an imprisoned man, the walls of his cell are the most important thing. What separates what is from what could be—now _there_ the question lies! And the answer?" He giggled. "Now, who in the world might there be to even hear it!" He giggled again.

Ariadne stared at the tittering Deelith and gave her head a minor shake. Doubtless the long years of isolation and breathing in the foul air had done the poor lizard's brains in.

"You don't aim for control, that's the difference" Ariela suggested.

Deelith, composing himself, replied, "Precisely, my dear. Yet, I shall not accuse you of that, either."

"Appreciate it. I try not to."

"And I am sure that you shall continue to do so."

Ariela smiled bashfully. "Thank you for the vote of confidence."

 _Oh, for the love of—_

"What do you dream of?"

Ariela blinked at the sudden question. "You mean—?"

"At night."

"Actually, nothing these days. All my life I've had very vivid dreams; but they ultimately got a bit too . . . uh, vivid. So the Arch-Mage prepared this elixir, which I started taking every night to suppress them altogether."

"Ah. Hawk feather, Histcarp, and the pod of a swamp fungus?"

"Yes, I think so."

"Mmm." The Argonian nodded contemplatively. "You should stop taking it.

Ariela raised her brows. "Pardon?"

Deelith's squamous shoulders rose and fell. "It's your choice, of course. But our dreams are always trying to tell us things. I would attend to them if I were you."

"I'll . . . think about it," the scholar finally said.

His smile was gentle. "You do that."

"Er," Ariela said, clearly uncomfortable and eager to move on. "Where were we?"

 _You two were just about to get down on the floor to start passionately kissing each other's sagacious behinds?_

"I believe I was just telling you how much I'm enjoying our little exchange here."

"Yes, I believe that you were. And let me again point out that the feeling is wholly mutual."

 _Yeah, just like I thought._

"This pleases me as well. While you seem to represent one of those rare types that understand what I'm saying here, usually when I talk to outsiders about these sorts of things, and that is by no means frequently, they are filled with superstitious fear or, alternatively, religious indignation."

"As I said before," Ariela said, "I'm a scholar. I'm not interested in the version of truth that I think it ought to be, or the one to make me feel the best. But I'm well aware not everyone is that way. That was among the chief reasons why Herennius founded the Guild. He felt that the current scholarship of his time had gotten too sectarian."

"And so he started a sect of his own . . ."

"Granted. And that, as it turned out, was not without problems."

"Beyond any doubt. Yet in you I see that which is so often sadly missing from your kind: the true yearning for understanding, the spirit of inquiry, putting old dogmas and superstition into test. You would despair to fully appreciate how truly rare a quality that is for in any mortal—or even immortal—to have."

"Well, I try. To question, that is. It's really all I know how to do."

"Questioning." Deelith nodded appreciatively. "It's a good habit to possess, questioning things."

"Yes, well, I do then trust that I'm on the right path. I'm in the habit of questioning _everything_."

Ariadne snorted.

Once again two bemused heads turned to her.

"Something funny about that, young lady?" asked the Argonian.

Ariadne planted her hands on her hips, refusing to be cowed by their stares. "Question everything? Really? I mean, it sounds all good and proper when you, you know, just _say_ it. But to take it literally? Isn't that going, like, a little too far? You end up, what, questioning _reality itself_?"

Ariela was nodding at her, on her face the most infuriating smile of indulgence. "I think that's a fair point," she said, then switched to regard Deelith. "Do you perhaps have something to say to that?"

The Argonian considered. "Hmm, yes. Reality?" He considered some more. "Yes . . . yes." Then he gave a conclusive nod. "Well, it's certainly _possible_ that reality exists."

In silence, the scholar and the Argonian alchemist regarded each other across the table, as if having forgotten all about Ariadne. Finally, Deelith cracked a grin. Then chuckled. Ariela chuckled as well. Soon they were both laughing, as though the punchline of the great jest that was the universe finally opened up for them with bright shining colors.

It was utterly insufferable.

Rolling her eyes, Ariadne spun on her heel. "Clearly I'm not needed here."

"No, wait," Ariela called at her once she reached the door, struggling to contain her idiotic braying. "Don't go. We didn't meant to—"

"No, no," she said frostily. "It's obvious that I'm not clever enough for this company. I'll just wait outside with the other stooges."

"No, please, come back."

But she was going already, thumping the door closed behind her. _I hope something fell on the floor! Something fragile._

Ariadne trod testily across the plot in front of the shack. _Taking me for a fool, are they? I'd like to show them a thing or two about fools_.

She noted Brend keeping watch, saw that the handsome man saw her as well, but she was not in the mood for him at the moment. So she elected to ignore him and instead strode straight over to the carriage.

As soon, however, as she'd gotten the carriage door open, she was met with yet further cause for chagrin. Stupid Thurd looked up from the disgusting slop he was shovelling into his mouth, blinking, dumbfounded. Perhaps over the vitriol with which she'd opened the door.

"What are you lurking in here for?" she snapped, irritated about the obviousness of the answer.

"I'm having a lunch brea—"

"Yes, yes, alright!"

She resolved not to let the man daunt her, and clambered into her place. If he decided to pester her, she swore she'd make him rue the day of his pointless birth.

"I've got some extra bread if you're hungry?"

"What? No, no. I'm fine." Starving was what she was, but she yet retained her pride.

Why in the world had she not thought to pack a lunch? Had she expected them to simply stop for food on the way?

Why, of course she had!

 _Well, maybe the scholar has something I can borrow. I won't ask, though. Agh, can't think about this now!_

She heaved a sigh. Leaning back, she closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath, slowly let it dissipate. Visualizing an indigo light filling her field of perception, flowing down into her body. She had taken a decisive initial exception to most of the mind-exercises they taught at them at the College, mostly needlessly dull as they'd seemed, but she'd eventually had to give her grudging acknowledgment that they were mighty useful in negotiating the many vicissitudes of the psyche.

She pressed her hands on her face, focusing on the sensation of them resting there, then slowly let them drop into her lap. Relaxing her neck, she let her chin hang down and opened her eyes, gazing down at the hands resting palms up on top of her thighs. Raised them for a closer study.

Her hands were the one aspect of herself, she was somewhat loathe to admit, that she'd never much cared for. They were too large by far to befit the rest of her gracious form. The long fingers and palms might have been fine in themselves, but did the damned things have to be so wide as well? Like man hands, she'd always thought.

 _Guess there are worse problems one could have._

Like the Arch-Mage of one's college, who harboured some crazy unexplained grudge against her?

 _Damn it, I haven't even thought of that this whole time!_

"They're pretty."

She swung her face toward the man whose presence she'd all but blessedly forgotten already, her brow in a furrow. " _What_?"

He faltered, but a small awkward smile still lingered on his unremarkable features. "Your hands. They're pretty. You've, eh, got pretty hands."

She scowled. "What are you, some kind of a pervert?" And she tucked the hands in her armpits, safe from the predations of this creep's gawping eyes.

His smile guttered out. "No. What? No. I just, you know—"

"Never mind," Ariadne said, and stormed outside.

 _Gods—what's wrong with some people? Can't be in peace for one heartbeat without them starting to hand you unasked-for pieces of their obscene minds!_

As though of their own accord, her feet were then taking her to Brend. Perhaps just to assuage the barrage of indignities that she was seeming to face today. As the man noticed her coming, a rascally light appeared on his face.

"Couldn't keep away for long, could you?" he said with a grin.

 _A little kittenish, are we? Well, two can play at that game._ "I beg your pardon?" she breathed with mock outrage. "Such impertinence for a humble guard!"

"Oh, pardon me, your ladyship! I stand castigated."

Ariadne smiled. Only passingly wondering at what point, exactly, they were supposed to have become so well acquainted. At least she already felt less cross. "Just had to talk to someone. I suppose you will have to do."

"I'm honoured to be of use, no matter how humble. So, the conversation was not your cup of tea I take it."

"Yeah, you could say that. And then there's _him_." She nodded at the carriage.

"Thurd? He's alright."

"No," Ariadne said. "He's not. He's . . . creepy."

"Really? Don't get that from him at all. Just sort of . . . well, I dunno, _dry_ I guess is the word. I always just figured he needs to get laid." He faltered. "Eh, sorry. Didn't mean it that way."

"Oh? I can't imagine many ways you could have meant it. Plus, chances are you're absolutely right. A whore is probably his best bet. A none-choosy one at that."

"Ow!" Brend laughed. "You're a mean one."

She gave him a fiendish smile, swaying her hips back and forth a little, ostensibly for warmth or something. "I can be." _What am I doing now?_

Damned if she knew. And damned if she much cared.

Brend returned the smile, and there in the midst of his natural goodwill and the more recent sparkle of flirt, something else flashed in his eyes. It was brief, but nonetheless real. It suddenly greatly perturbed her that she could not read it.

His grin waned. "What now?"

Ariadne shook her head. "Nothing. Just tired is all." It was true. She was too tired, and not in full control of herself. _This won't do. Damn all their nonsense, listening to it got me all discombobulated!_

She decided to drop the coquettishness for now. They then shared a few more words until Thurd came out to continue his guard. Brend remained outside as well and Ariadne could return to the carriage in peace.

She managed to get a bit of rest, but did not quite fall asleep; or at least did not notice having done so.

She wasn't sure how much longer the scholar spent in the shack, but by the time the woman finally came out, the faint silver disk behind the clouds that was the sun was sitting low in the sky.

They got ready to leave. Deelith was standing at his front door to send them off, as Ariela was about to climb aboard the carriage.

"And Ariela?" the Argonian called.

Stopping at the door crack, the scholar looked over her shoulder.

Deelith gave an enigmatic little grin. "Keep your eye open."

And he turned on his heel and went in.

After one puzzled instant, Ariela closed the carriage door behind her and took a seat. A moment later they took off again. Not a moment too soon.


	5. Sooner Than She Thought

**Sooner Than She Thought**

Finally Ariadne had time to think about the issue with the Arch-Mage. Sit here silently all the way until Whiterun, that was a couple hours at least, and she should have an idea about the reason behind the woman's strange behavior, what it was that she had against her, and particularly of what to do about it.

 _Alright, girl. Now's your time to shine. Show us that ample proficiency for problem-solving of yours, the one that spared you the failed grade you almost got for that dreadful Alteration class._ Well, chances were she wouldn't be able to flirt and flutter her way out of this one, but still . . .

The Arch-Mage, the Arch-Mage _. . . Let's see; well, she's old for one. Gods know how old—I'm told her kind can live into their thousands! Now, what would that be like? Guess you'd more or less have the chance to see everything you wanted in that time, sleep with pretty much everyone you fancied, both of these things at least twice over. Wouldn't that get dull in the end? I mean, I'd like to be able to see the entire world, but I'm sure I'd grow weary of it eventually. And sleeping with people? Well, I'm sure one can keep that up for quite bit longer, but eventually even that's bound to get old. Not to mention the people, they would get old too. And thus far less attractive. Then of course there'd be new generations. Hmmm, I would probably feel weird, doing it with people who were just little children when you were already an adult. Kinda dirty, I'd bet . . . Oh wait, what am I doing? Concentrate, Ariadne, concentrate! Now, where was I? Right._

Old. The woman was old. So there was that. Was it feasible to suppose that she was simply jealous of Ariadne's youth? That seemed a bit too easy, but then they said the simplest explanation was usually the rightest one. Jealousy was generally a solid explanation for why people did things. But then Faralda had had a far longer life, all that time to sleep around and the like, not that it was easy to imagine her doing any of that, but in any case, shouldn't it be Ariadne who was envious of her?

 _So what other reasons could there be? I'm fairly sure she's not at all interested in Calisto— oh, wait; what does she want with me now. Can't she see I'm thinking?_ Ariadne turned to face Ariela, as the scholar was just saying something to her.

 _Still trying to picture those lizard-cocks, aren't you?_

Ariadne scowled. " _Excuse_ me?"

Ariela blinked, bemused. "I said, are you quite alright?"

 _Oh wait, that question was just in my head, wasn't it? Funny, almost like a different voice altogether . . ._

Damn it, but she was tired!

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Why?"

"Well, I just thought you looked a bit . . . I don't know, befuddled."

 _Oh, and you look like a million Septims when you're deep in thought!_ "No, I'm okay. Just thinking." _As in, leave me to it!_

"Got it," Ariela said. And just when Ariadne thought she'd leave her be, she continued hesitatingly, "Look, about that thing in there. I apologize. I assure you, it was never any intention of mine or Deelith's to make you feel foolish. It was just a bit of—"

" _Foolish_? I never feel foolish, just so you know!"

"O . . . kay. Well, in any case I just wanted to say I was sorry. So, sorry. No offence intended."

"Never mind," Ariadne replied. The thought of the whole affair made her wince on the inside. Perhaps she had indeed overreacted somewhat. Even, she had to consider, made herself look a little foolish. _Sigh! Might as well admit it. Never to her, though!_ "It was nothing really."

Ariela nodded. "Well, I'm glad."

 _Alright, are you done now? Yeah? Good, 'cause I really need to figure this out. Let's see—_

"Though . . ." Ariela begun.

 _Oh, for crying out loud!_

Unmindful of the flare in Ariadne's eyes, the scholar went on. "That whole meeting really exceeded my expectations. Well, I suppose it's fair to say that it went differently than I expected, but that, I suppose, is to be . . . well, _expected_ , heh."

 _What are you on about, you daft little goose?_

"In any case, there was plenty of food for thought, for sure."

"Not so much for the palate, though," Ariadne said, after a pause. Those fishes . . .

"Right. That," Ariela said wincing, and lightly drew air from between her teeth with a dismayed look in her eyes. "I don't know. His types, the deeply introverted hermit types, don't always think such things through."

A moment of silence as they both no doubt processed the trauma.

Finally, Ariadne smacked her mouth, and murmured, "Mmmm . . . crunchy, tapewormy goodness!"

A loud snort escaped from Ariela, and she pressed a hand over her mouth.

They shared a giggle.

Afterwards, Ariadne felt as though the air between them had lightened. Her own crankiness had also subsided to some extent. This was the first time that she could recall having any exchange with the other woman not containing a minor conflict of some sort. Perhaps there was hope for them still.

And yet, she soon saw that the scholar was far from done. The lecturing demeanor, which she'd come to recognize well by this point, soon returned, and the woman drew breath in the way that she always did when about to embark on some interminable tangent.

Her mood sinking again, Ariadne suppressed a sigh simultaneously as she tried to keep her eyes from rolling.

"Be that as it may," Ariela began, "the other aspect of the visit, as I said, went even better than I had thought. Gave me much to digest, in the intellectual sense. For some time, I'll wager. I'd say that there were definitely insights he could provide me with that should help in interpreting the book. The Void is a good place to start . . . in a manner of speaking. You know, I'm fascinated with this whole Sithis business now. All this stuff about the Mind. In fact, I'm pretty sure there's some passage in the book that can be said to allude to similar things. And I know that I've seen similar stuff said about Magnus before. Something about Magnus being the mind of the world, or along those lines. Now, if only I could remember who said it . . ."

Ariadne examined her nails. "Yeah," she said, "it's all really interesting."

"You of all people should be interested," Ariela replied. "You know, as a mage."

She shrugged. "I dunno. I'm more interested in the action part of it. Besides, I'm no piece of Sithis, or Magnus, or whatever—I'm _me_!"

"I understand that sentiment, believe me I do. Yet, the questions of mind, will, soul, and intention are of crucial importance in regards to magic."

"Are we going there again? Look, it's really not the same to read about it and to actually do it."

For a heartbeat, Ariela looked a little cowed by that comment, but soon regained her steam. "Be that as it may, even the most capable mage should not lightly discard theory. It's how you orient yourself, which determines your fate in the long run, so nothing is by any means inconsequential."

"What's that even supposed to even mean?"

"You know how your body always adjusts itself according to how you maneuver it? Adopt a bad sitting posture and soon the rest of you adapts, and sooner or later this causes issues. Well, your mind also adjusts to your thoughts, and, in just the same vein, your soul adjusts to the sort of magic you wield. The determinant regarding mental actions is the intention behind them. You condition your soul that way. Evil intent, to put matters simply, sows evil deeds. And those who sow evil deeds, reap evil souls, and evil souls tend to wind up inhabiting evil worlds. And the greater the impact, this reasoning goes, your actions have, the more they resonate with the most fundamental deep-structures of your very self, the more radical their effects—and in this regard magic is the mother of all actions! Rigorous study, no matter how unrewarding it may appear to be, helps steer your actions in the right direction. Action should ideally always be informed by wisdom."

Once the scholar was done talking, Ariadne stared at her for some moments, waiting. Then said, "Is the lecture over by any chance?"

Ariela let out an exasperated sigh. "Look, I'm not saying this because I want something from you! It's for your own good. Alright, alright; never mind. You don't need to tell me that you've no use for me mothering you or whatever—I get it. Sorry for being a nuisance, I won't mention it again."

"Good," Ariadne replied. "It is all I ask."

"Fine," Ariela said.

"Fine," Ariadne concluded.

And that was all that was said in a good long stretch of time. Which was really all that she had hoped for.

She could see that the guards, especially Brend, had followed their little exchange whilst attempting to seem like they were doing anything but that. At least they both had the good sense of self-preservation to keep their possible thoughts to themselves.

 _Okay, enough of wasting time. So, Faralda, you crusty old bitch. You'd better beware, because I'm this close to figuring out what you're all about. And after that I'm coming after you. I'm not some pile of garbage you can just sweep under your bed and forget about. If you try, sooner or later I'm gonna start stinking so bad that you won't be able to sleep— Uh, alright, bad analogy. Anyway, where was I going with this?_

The following moments were not much different. Gods, she'd never even realized how difficult it was to form coherent patterns of thought, with her mind always running this way and that! _It's the lack of sleep and food, I'm sure. Normally I'd have this under control. Yeah, and the still lingering buzz from the magic, gets me all riled up. Man, I'm hungry! Could do with some food in me. Some food, yes, and a nice big cock—_

 _Dammit, woman! Stop doing that!_

As the frustration over the entanglement of her inner workings momentarily forced her out of herself, another, this time external, distraction snatched her attention. She frowned.

Thurd, attempting to act all casual and surreptitious about it, had produced a small leather flask, and was lifting it to his lips with his head turned away so as to not garner attention. Failing pathetically, as might be expected.

"What are you doing?" Ariadne snapped, and the man started.

"Me? Eh, nothing." He tried to squirrel the canteen away.

"No, no, no. What's that? Yeah, that right there. Drinking on the job, are we?"

Brend was looking over, a mildly offended scowl marring his fine features. Ariela, on the other hand, looked as though she didn't really understand what the sudden commotion was supposed to be all about.

Reluctantly, like a little boy caught fiddling with himself, Thurd shamefacedly produced the skin. "Nah, it's not like that at all. Just something to keep me warm is all." When Ariadne cocked a brow at that, he hastened to add, "There's no alcohol in it!"

"Right," Ariadne said. "Of course not. Let me be the judge of that. Give it."

"It's—"

"Say 'it's mine'," she growled, leaning forward "And, by gods, I will burn you to cinder. Then I'll have that cinder thrown out on its ass!" The man's eyes were suddenly very wide. Everyone else looked positively shocked as well. It tickled Ariadne. Of course she didn't mean any of it! But she seemed to be fooling them pretty good. Part of her—to be sure, a very small and feeble part at the moment—was wondering why it was that she was being so mean to the poor fool. But that part meant next to nothing to her. Why? Damned it she even knew. All she knew was that she enjoyed it! _And who's gonna stop me? The scholar? Hah!_ She stuck out her hand so aggressively as to cause Thurd to jolt. She fought a grin. "Give!"

The man obsequiously submitted the canteen, and Ariadne sniffed it. Didn't smell alcoholic, at least. She put it to her lips and, her eyes fixed on the man's, took a sip. Did not taste alcoholic, either. Whatever devil had gotten hold of her kept it persistently fixed, as she, her eyes fastened onto Thurd's, deliberately, slowly poured the rest of the sweet and slightly bitter warm liquid down her gullet.

Tasty stuff, she had to admit.

Once done, she gave an ostentatious exhalation, smacked her lips, and crowned her performance with as resonant a belch as she could produce, then tossed the empty skin back to the utterly stunned looking guard. "Yeah, alright. I'll let it slide for now. Just don't let me see you doing it again."

The way they all looked at her at the moment, especially Thurd himself, was easily worth any trouble that she might get in over this. She almost giggled, but then did not want to break the magic of the moment.

A most curious look lingered in the eyes of the homely guard. Humiliated, to be sure. But there was something more. Almost like . . . delight. Ariadne nearly scowled in disgust. Probably in addition to everything else, he took pleasure in being humiliated by women. What an utterly sad man!

She leaned her head back, closing her eyes so as to avoid anyone's attempt at engaging her about what had just happened. Not that they'd dare, she wagered.

 _Alright. Now._ Now _! I'll get to the bottom of this. Hmmm, maybe I've approached this from the wrong angle. I shouldn't start with Faralda herself, as it seems something about her throws my mind all off-kilter. Calisto. We'll start there. The genial golden boy Calisto, with his unsurpassed talents, and his indomitable charms. His radiant, playful smile. His perfect teeth. His muscles—yes, those are very nice. I bet he's awful strong, too. Knows how to handle a girl. Hung like a big ol' bull, I'm sure . . . —Oh, for fuck's sake!_

This wasn't working out. With a sharp, frustrated sigh she opened her eyes, and as she turned her head, found the scholar frowning at her. "What are you looking at?" she snapped.

"What? I wasn't . . . are you feeling alright?"

 _Duh, I think it's pretty obvious that I'm not!_ "Yeah, fine," she groused. "Just . . ." _Tired?_ "Yes, fucking tired!"

Now Ariela seemed even more disconcerted.

"Ah, sorry!" Ariadne rubbed at her face. Her skin felt oddly tingly, the top of her skull growing vaguely numb. She really didn't think that she had slept _that_ badly, just a few hours short that's all. Probably on top of that, all the stress was starting to get to her. "I'm just really in need of a good night of sleep. Couldn't fall asleep for the longest time yesterday. Makes me a little . . . weird."

Ariela's expression lightened. "Oh, well that's alright. Happens to me too. Or used to, before I started taking the concoction. I'm sure there's something you could take, also, if you're having problems with it. I don't think they all take away your dreams, either, if that's not something you're looking for. I'm sure if you ask Faralda—"

"I will _not_!"

Ariela stared. "Er . . . "

 _Control yourself, will you! Soon she's gonna think you're in need of a wholly different kind of help._ "I mean, yeah, sure, why not. Though this doesn't usually happen. You know, I'm okay, really. Let's just . . . let's just drop it. Alright?"

Ariela acquiesced, though with that worried expression still lingering on her countenance.

Ariadne attempted one more foray into the jumble of her thoughts, even if she had substantially dropped her expectations regarding success. _One more try, yes? Fail me again, brain, and I may just consider flushing you out with alcohol once we get to Whiterun. And I don't even much care for the taste!_

She yet again braved the treacherous shoals of her soul. _So, never mind Calisto. After all, I sincerely doubt that it's him who's at the heart of this. Perhaps it simply comes down to myself. I mean, I am, after all, most likely the aptest of all the students in the College—save for Calisto of course . . . no, don't think about him!—eh . . . yeah, so I'm obviously the aptest . . . is that a word? "Most apt," I guess. Why not aptest, anyway? Why can you say "smartest" but not "aptest"? Hmm . . . never really thought of it. What's the difference? Smartest? Yeah. Intelligentest? Nope. Stupidest? Correct. Err . . . what's a more correct term for stupid? Unintel— OH GODS, I BLOODY CANNOT BELIEVE I'M DOING IT AGAIN!_

It wouldn't have been a gross exaggeration to say that she could have just screamed in frustration. But though she managed to, just barely, repress this quite understandable expression of sentiment, it sounded as though someone outside could not.

Ariadne frowned. It had been an animal scream. One of the horses drawing the carriage. It hadn't sounded panicked, exactly; and given that the motion of the vehicle carried on as usual, there was in fact little reason to pay much mind to the noise. And yet she experienced a sudden twinge of unease.

It seemed as though Brend was the only other person to notice anything amiss. "What was that?" he asked, on his own brow a touch of furrow.

"One of the horses," Ariadne said.

"What's going on?" Ariela asked, roused from her reading.

"Just a horse whinnying," Thurd contributed with a shrug. "They'll do that."

"I dunno," Ariadne said, "Sounded a bit freaked for a moment there."

Thurd listened. "Well, it seems alright now."

"Driver!" Brend called out.

"It's probably nothing," said Thurd, "no need to get all excited."

Ariadne scowled at him.

"Driver! Is anything the matter?" Brend yelled.

"Huh? Yeah, all's good," came the grunted reply, after a pause.

Thurd wore a smug little grin. "See?"

"Well." Brend shrugged. "Worth checking, anyway."

After shooting another glare at Thurd, Ariadne smiled at the other man. That was his reward for being so vigilant. She could trust her life with a guard like this, one who let nothing slip past him. Well, more than likely she was better guarding his life than the other way around, but that could be their little secret. Among other ones, that was . . .

She felt her smile take on a devilish edge at that last thought.

 _What are you doing; thought you were all about Calisto? How'd he feel if he knew you were daydreaming of some lowly guard guy, while he was out there putting his life on the line for the safety us all._

She shrugged to herself. It wasn't as if Calisto didn't in all likeliness leave girls sighing after him in every town. Then she frowned. No, she didn't much like that prospect. _Those slags!_ _He belongs to me!_ _Well, not yet of course. But by right!_ If only she could think of a way to snare that swaggering man, and to ensure that he would never let his eye linger on another strumpet again. Something short of striking him blind, that was.

 _If you weren't so afraid of what others think of you, you might find it in you to grow into something more than just another silly little pretty-girl, desperately trying to_ —

Ariadne scowled, muttering, "No, that's no good," under her breath. _That's_ not _the sort of thought that I permit myself to have._ It was her mind, dammit, and she was bloody well gonna be the boss of it!

Another promising moment of breakthrough cut ruefully short, as she almost slipped out of her seat and into Thurd's lap. The carriage rocked to a halt with all the grace of an old woman tumbling down some stairs.

"What the—?" Brend grunted.

Pressing her feet firmly against the carriage floor, as if it wasn't all too late for that, Ariadne frowned. _Bandits yet again? If so, I swear I won't let them off so easy this time!_

But there were no calls of distress from the driver. In fact, barring the snorts from the horses, it was suddenly eerily quiet.

Turning his head only marginally, Thurd called out, "Are we there yet?" over his shoulder." The oaf was wearing a satisfied grin, looking defiantly at Ariadne.

 _Is acting like a child your idea of trying to get back at me somehow? I'm about this close to teaching you a lesson of a significantly different magnitude!_

"What the hell is going on?" Brend growled. "Everyone stay here and I'll go look what the—" Blade in hand, he was already going for the door as he spoke.

What happened next happened so fast and so suddenly that it took a while for Ariadne to grasp it. As Brend was turning the door handle, Thurd's right hand, squeezed into a fist, shot out in his direction. A protruding object had appeared in it, seemingly out of thin air. Ariadne stared stupidly as some kind of liquid suddenly gushed out of Brend's neck, from where the other guard's hand had landed. It sprayed in several directions: on the door, on the wall's upholstery, onto both men, and some on Ariela. The scholar squealed as the splash hit her tunic, trying to reel all the way through the back of her seat.

Ariadne stared at the liquid on the other woman's clothes. Thick and red. The shock of abrupt comprehension.

She stared in horror as Thurd, grasping Brend's hair with one hand, sawed at his throat with the dagger. Feebly, the other man tried to fight back, but all strength was rapidly leaving him. More blood oozed out in droves, the tortured wheeze erupting from the gory mess that was left of his throat an unimaginable horror to the ears. And Ariadne could do nothing.

Finally, Thurd let the dying man slump over against the door, returning to his seat while giving the shocked mute women a somewhat entertained look-over. The left side of his face and almost the whole right arm bloodstained, the grin he then afforded Ariadne could not gave been ghastlier. "That takes care of that."

Just another heartbeat of impotent alarm, and then the next most natural thing came to Ariadne.

In fury, she raised her hands in front of her, set her intention on fire, and—

And . . . nothing.

In a reprise of shock, Ariadne stared at her hands. No different they had been just a second before. No flame. No nothing. _What in the . . ._ She tried again but felt nothing. Nothing but sudden terror. An altogether new feeling, it seemed—helplessness. She looked up, met Thurd's gleaming gaze.

"Is something the matter?" he asked, cocking his head. His eyes then went to her hands. "Oh, right. That." He grinned down at the empty flask sitting on the bench next to him, tapped it with the tip of his bloody knife. "Potent mixture of magica poison and recovery poison. Ought to keep you sufficiently pacified for a couple of hours at least." Then he gave her a look laden with mock sympathy. "Bet you don't feel so clever now."

She stared, her eyes wide with dismay. "You . . ."

He sprang forward, rage twisting his unexceptional features into something exceptionally hideous. Forcing her back against the back wall, he pressed the dagger to her throat. "So, you haughty little bitch, let's hear you put me in my place now! Huh?"

Ariadne did her best to keep herself composed, and to not move against that sharp blade. Hot blood trickled down her neck, onto her breasts. Brend's blood.

"Why are you doing this?" cried the scholar, sounding as though she were trying to keep calmer than she felt. Failing.

"Shut it!" Thurd growled in reply. He pressed his face close to Ariadne's, his teeth bared in a bastard child of a smile and a snarl. "Yeah. Not so arrogant now, are you?" His eyes dropped, and Ariadne felt his free hand creep up her thigh, fingers closing in a firm intrusive caress.

"Take your hand off of me," she hissed carefully from between clenched teeth. "Or I swear to the gods that I will kill you."

"Ooh!" replied Thurd derisively. "But how's a kitty gonna scratch with no claws?"

 _I'll fucking find a way!_ Despite her situation, Ariadne considered briefly whether it was feasible for her to fight back. Her hands were free. She could attack him where it counted.

But she decided against it. It was not worth the risk.

"Alright," Thurd said. "Enough playing 'round." He withdrew the knife, and Ariadne dared to breathe freely again. He then grabbed yelping Ariela hard by one scrawny arm. When Ariadne jerked instinctively, he pressed the dagger on the scholars' neck. "Careful now. Don't try anything ill-considered or the little bookworm is next. Aye, let's go then. They're waiting for us."

 _They?_

Dragging Ariela to her feet, Thurd pushed the door open. He kicked Brend's sagging corpse over the threshold, and it fell out into the darkened evening. He stopped to regard Ariadne, still frozen to her seat. "Well, are you coming?"

The look Ariela gave her before she was pulled outside was helpless and frightened, but Ariadne could not find an order for her own emotions. A strange numbness had stolen into her, despite that she could still recognize the more primitive layers of fear and powerless fury. She sat there mutely, staring at her big, stupid, uncooperative hands. No, it wasn't their fault. She was poisoned. It was . . . it was her own damned fault! _You just had to show him_ _who's_ _boss, didn't you? Well look where your cattiness got us!_

This was no time for wallowing in self-blame. She had to do something.

Something. What? Well, she'd have to think of it, and quick. _Yeah, you've certainly showed us your prowess in that regard!_

No, no, no. There were real enemies out there. She couldn't become one to herself. Now was time to—

"Oh, Ariad _neeeee_!" sang a voice outside. "Pray do not keep us waiting! Come out and show your lovely face, will ya?"

Ariadne froze, with something grossly beggaring the limp expression "dismay" assuming command over her.

She knew that baritone.

 _No. No. No, no, no._

Feeling as though carved out of wood, she stood and opened the door. At the threshold, she froze again. Her mouth fell open.

"There you are!"

She gaped, then exhaled, " _Calisto_?"

"None other!" beamed the handsome man. In fact, he was even more gorgeous than she remembered him being. Despite everything. He fanned out his arms in a characteristically aggrandizing manner. "Miss me? I told you we'd see each other sooner than you think. And have I ever lied to you?"

The man was, of course, not alone. Surrounding him were some half-dozen deeply unpleasant looking types, among them the two nameless mage students from the College. Ariela looked small and defeated hunching between two big men dressed in dark robes, one with a cowl drawn over his head. Thurd stood grinning next to Calisto, the taller man's proximity making him look, if possible, even more disagreeable.

"What . . .?" Ariadne said. "What are you . . .?" Brend's corpse lay in a heap next to her feet, and, with a surge of horror, she quickly stepped aside. Her eyes then went to the chauffeur's seat, where the dead driver's open eyes stared, it seemed, straight at her.

"Doing here?" Calisto said. "Why, collecting you of course!" He waved desultorily in the scholar's direction. "Both of you, in fact. Though of course it's you in particular that I'm personally interested in."

 _You . . . what? Do you mean—?_

Wrong place, wrong time! And, as it would seem, the wholly wrong person. Ariadne felt her expression crumble. "What's going on? What are you doing? _Why_ are you doing this?"

Calisto grinned with the complement of his perfect, white teeth. "Things are unpredictable, my dear. Let's just say that I've found a better way to achieve what I want. Come with me and I'll show you just what I mean."

The fraudulently innocent beckoning was enforced by the hoodless robed beast of a man, who had walked over to Ariadne and now grasped her shoulder with a hand that could crush stones. She was still too stunned to resist as the man unceremoniously towed her over to the other side of Calisto.

When the mage reached out a hand to brush a strand of hair from her eyes, she regained her wits enough to evade it.

Calisto's expression fell in a disingenuous manner. He pulled the hand back. "I'm saddened by your reaction, Ariadne. Thought you'd be pleased to see me."

She blinked. Then something ignited in her. "What? Are you . . . are you _insane_! Who are you anyway? I thought I . . ." _Knew you? Gods, listen to yourself. You're being utterly pathetic!_

Calisto shrugged, with something of a boyish smile on his sensual lips. "I am what I am. What I've always been. Worry not, you'll find out soon enough. Now, I apologize for the crude manner in which I appeared, but tactic simply demanded it."

"Crude!" Ariadne's voice climbed at the same rate as the fury clawing its way to the surface of her mind. " _Crude_?!" Her hand shot out to where Brend laid. "There was no need for him to die!"

Calisto tilted an eyebrow in the direction of the dead guard. "Him?" He then looked back at her with mock wonder. "Oh. But certainly you didn't think that he'd hold a candle to _me_ , did you!"

Ariadne could not initially find a reaction other than to stare at the condescendingly grinning mage. Then she felt her fury breaking through, and she bared her teeth. "You bastard!" she growled. Perhaps not the astutest of rejoinders, but by gods was it not accurate! How could this horrible fiend have lurked behind those perfect features all this time? How had she not seen it!

"She's a fiery one, ain't she," sibilated Thud, likewise grinning, hungrily eyeballing Ariadne. "Wouldn't mind _me_ a piece of that!"

"Touch me again," Ariadne hissed at him, "and I'll rip your balls off!"

Ignoring her outburst, Calisto looked over at the other man with one elevated eyebrow. "Oh, aye? Do you like fiery girls, then?" A low, serpentine tone had crept into his voice, evidently missed by the guard.

"Sure do!" Thurd replied, still affording her the hungry eye.

Calisto raised one hand. "Well, what a coincidence." A blue glowing ball had appeared in the center of his palm, and his fingers now constricted, energy visibly building around the hand. "I just so happen to have one for you!"

Opening the hand, Calisto thrust it out past Thurd, and behind the guard the air burst into something like blue and white flame. The other man swung around, gawping as the flames quickly spread out to reveal a deep black abyss in their midst, which itself just as soon grew outwards and dissipated. In its place, a female apparition hung approximately one hand span's height in the air. It was tall and lean and looked as though it was wearing a piecemeal armor of dark metal. The rest of the Flame Atronach was, as the name suggested, made of raging fire with its dancing fingers piercing through the many cracks in the glowing metal casing. The open top of the Daedra's head was like a giant torch, the rest of it consisting of what looked like an iron mask of a female face reaching as far as above its nose, and arcuate backwards-bending ram horns.

The limber figure performed a graceful backflip in the air, as if enjoying the free air of the nightly Nirn; underneath it, a trail of fire rose off the ground. Then, in spite of possessing no visible eyes, it seemed to focus its avid attention on the guard, who still stared, dumbfounded, with his mouth hanging open.

His gleaming eyes fixed on the thing, Calisto leaned close to the stunned man's ear. "Better run!" he said in a half-whisper. "That one'll burn ya!"

Another astounded moment, and then the terrible realization of his situation seemed to hit the man. He broke into a run, making for the opposite direction from the blazing female. And did not get far. The Flame Atronach sent after him one Firebolt after another in rapid succession. Each one was a perfect hit, and Thurd soon hit the ground, screaming terribly as the fire caught his clothes, his hair, and then the rest of him.

Calisto howled in laughter, a strange high pitched sound, holding his belly with his face turned towards the sky. He abruptly punctuated his laughing with a manic shriek, directed at the burning guard rolling on the ground. "You can't have her—she's _mine_!" Then he giggled some more.

Ariadne turned her face away from the dying man, hoping to gods that she could stop listening to his screams.

As luck would have it, they did not last for much longer.

Calisto gathered himself, casually waved a hand in the direction of the Atronach and the apparition vanished in a similar manner as it had appeared. He then turned to regard Ariadne. The mirth on his features seemed to fall away as he stepped closer. "Oh. Now, now. The bad man can't hurt you now." He grinned. "No, I'm gonna keep you _all_ for myself."

She snapped her teeth at the hand he proffered to touch her cheek with, fully intending to dig them into his flesh. The big man in the robes standing behind her seized her by both arms to restrain her.

"Ho!" Calisto laughed as he quickly retreated the hand. "You _are_ a fiery one!" His sigh contained weariness and satisfaction in equal measure. "Breaking you in is going to be a long and hard, if entirely enjoyable, process."

A cold feeling spread out from the pit of her stomach at the way he eyed her then.

"Boss," called another one of Calisto's cronies, a short and willowy Nord standing by the captured women's horses. "What should we do with the beasts? Kill 'em?"

"No!" Ariadne cried.

Calisto slanted her a curious look, then shrugged. "Nah, they seem decent. Just bring them along. We can find use for them."

"Aye." The man proceed to start untying Ariela's horse from the back of the carriage. The poor dumb animal did nothing to resist him.

Affording Ariadne one more darkly amused look, Calisto went on to deal out instructions for his other underlings. Clearly he had assumed command over all these shady people, though Ariadne had no idea why and how. Who were they? Who was _he_?

The thug behind him still held onto her other arm, and she did nothing to try to shake herself free. She suddenly felt so hopeless. So defeated. _Crushed_ , was the word. What was going to happen to them? What was even going on? She could have just . . . just . . .

She let her head hang down and closed her eyes. Could not remember ever feeling this bleak before in her entire life. She felt—

Her eyes opened. She felt _something_. There, in the deeper recesses of her soul, she still sensed a spark, no matter how tentative and weak. But it was there. And it was real.

It was . . . hope.

She looked up, and her gaze connected with Ariela's. The other woman looked every little bit as beaten as she must have, if not indeed more so. And yet, as their eyes met, something odd crept across the scholar's countenance. It was as though she saw something that she'd not expected to. To her own surprise, Ariadne gave the woman a little smile. Ariela returned it with a frown.

Her gaze then swung to where the moron of a bandit struggled with the knot in the rope, which kept the horse tethered to the carriage— _why doesn't the idiot just use a knife!_

A different kind of rush swept through her. It was now or never. This was her chance.

She gave Ariela one more look. The scholar seemed to be softly shaking her head, still frowning.

Ariadne grinned.

Then, with a sharp and swift motion she pulled back her free arm, driving her elbow straight into the big thug's diaphragm. He let out a surprised, pained grunt and his other hand came free.

And Ariadne was running. Ignoring the sudden shouts behind her, she dashed straight at Arcana. The horse calmly turned her head in the rapidly approaching woman's direction, as if to say, _certainly took your time._ The man by the other horse also turned, but his expression was far less composed. Igniting that little spark inside of her, pushing her will to its limit, Ariadne forced heat into her arm, into her hand. It was tenuous, and it was far from durable. But it was something. And it would have to do.

Screaming, she lashed out her hand. The bandit dove to the ground with a cry. But he wasn't her target. An almost nonexistent spark of flame lit up in between her thumb and forefinger, and she fired what she could at the rope hitching Arcana. A piteous baby-Firebolt of a size slightly smaller than a chicken's egg flung out. And it hit the target.

That was all Ariadne had, and now she felt utterly drained again.

But the rope did look to catch fire. Little bit at least, as a filament of smoke rose from where the bolt had hit.

It had to be enough!

She ran as fast as she could, the wind and the beating of her own heart roaring in her ears, and as she drew near she leapt in the air. Grabbing ahold of Arcana's thick black mane— _sorry, girl!—_ she flung her legs over the horse's muscular unsaddled back. Ariadne tugged on the mane, and Arcana, airing out a mighty cry, reared up on her hind legs. As she did so, what remained of the burned strands of rope snapped off.

"Get her!" she heard Calisto scream, as she swerved Arcana around.

 _You're certainly welcome to try!_ Holding white-knuckled onto the horse's mane and steering with her legs pressed against the powerful flanks, Ariadne prompted Arcana to strike out at a savage gallop. An infelicitous villain made the mistake of setting herself in their path, and the flash of abject panic in her eyes never had time to find vocal accompaniment before she was trampled down. Ariadne could hear the nauseating crack of the woman's skull underneath Arcana's hoof. _Sorry, not sorry!_

As she was taking off, she heard the hiss of an arrow sailing by, followed by Calisto's furious cry, "No don't shoot, you idiot! I want her alive!"

 _You ain't getting me either way!_

And then she was out of their reach already.

"You'll come back to me yet, sweetcakes!" There was no anger audible in Calisto's parting holler, and that made it all the more horrid.

Ariadne forced all such notions from her mind. She had done it! She'd fought herself free, and this in spite of having her magical capacities fundamentally impaired. A giddy kind of rush boiled in her veins, making every nerve feel as though about to burst. All without magica!

A ferocious sense of triumph twisted her face into a grin as she rode, with her head pressed down from the wind and her face against the pungent coarse hair of Arcana's mane. And for a few fleeting moments she did not have to think about how she'd left Ariela in the hands of sinister lunatics, harboring who knew what sorts of nefarious plans for the poor, defenseless little woman.


	6. A Site for Eyesores

**A Site for Eyesores**

The blessedly carefree moments during which she'd not had to fret over the uncertain fate of poor little Ariela had run unblessedly short. The rush of excitement over duping her would-be captors, over her heroic escape, soon wore off and left an undeniably bitter aftertaste in its wake. Her woes, it seemed, were only just beginning.

 _How in the world am I supposed to get her out of this? What am I gonna do!_

Well, the first order of things was _not_ to do what her first instinct was to do and run as far and as fast as her horse could take her without as much as a passing intent of a single backwards glance. No, that would most likely not bode well in the eyes of the world. After all, _she_ was supposed to be the fierce mage, superior to almost any that she knew of; so by all means this now was as good a place as any to exercise some heroism, and save the defenseless academic from the band of vile ruffians.

The rub was, one of those few mages whom she knew without a doubt to be one of her superiors numbered among the ruffians. Their leader, as it seemed. And she had no clear idea of his companions either, of their respective capabilities. _You'll know a fool by the headlong form in which he plunges at trouble_ , as her father was fond of saying. A stupid saying, but undeniably true. So she'd need to think before acting.

Ariadne had been riding up a hill for the last quarter hour or so, and had by now reached a position elevated enough to afford a good vista over the Whiterun plains. Steering Arcana over to an outcrop and dismounting, she crouched down to gaze into the direction whence she'd come. In the descended darkness, she could still discern the distant party of villains by the dapples of light from their torches. They were on the move, yet not showing any sign of hurry. They looked to be headed . . . was that east? Yeah, the outline of the city of Whiterun loomed up front and to her right, and that would be south, so east was where they were going. What was there?

Her face puckered as she kept staring at the fluttering points of light, thinking about how Calisto had played her for a fool. Even worse—what did he want with her? She'd been more or less powerless before him, and that had seemed to provide him with an enormous amount of twisted pleasure. What had he planned for her?

The evil look in those eyes which she'd once found to be so beautiful . . .

To suppress the chill sense of dread which naturally rose from thinking back on the whole affair, she focused on the other dominant emotion in her, no matter how unwelcome that in itself was. Opening and closing her hands, she then hunched there, her entire body clamped against the mounting helpless rage clawing at her.

 _You bastard! You bastard! You bastard, you bastard, you gods-damned, no-good lowlife of a beautiful bastard—_

"So, what are we looking at?"

Ariadne screamed. Instinctively, her hands flew out in front of her, prepared for destruction. But of course her magica had still not regenerated, so they just hung there about as threatening as a pair of declawed kittens, if not rather overgrown ones at that.

Then, her heart thrumming like Arcana's hooves had done just minutes ago, she blinked. " _Sissel_?"

The woman grinned, the expression sitting peculiarly on those normally so severe features. The older mage seemed to have crawled out of nowhere and was now squatting by her. "Hello, Ariadne."

"You . . ." she frowned at the woman, then her eyes swung again out again into the distance. Then back to Sissel. "Why aren't you with them?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

A pause.

"Uh, no. It's not."

Sissel rolled her eyes. "I'm not one of them."

"Ah," Ariadne said. "That explains it. So . . . who is _them_ , exactly?"

"I think you got a pretty good look, didn't you? How do you like your darling boy Calisto now?"

 _He's not my darling . . . ah, well . . ._ Ariadne sighed. "Rub it in, why don't you," she muttered. Then sharpened her eyes on the woman. "What is going on here? Why is he doing this? _What_ is he doing!?"

Something like a bitter little smile twisted Sissel's thin lips as she stared into the distance. "Power is a hell of a thing. Get a little taste and it can twist any man out of shape." Her eyes, shiny in the moonlight, settled on Ariadne. "Or woman."

"What's that supposed to—?"

"Faralda had suspected something was going on with him from almost the beginning. The way he would manipulate everyone. The way he would lie as though it was the most natural thing for him. The way he would spend days on his little personal adventures, ostensibly for his schoolwork but more than likely mingling with the shady type. Not that she could prove any of this, but after that debacle with Nirya years ago, she'd learned to be vigilant. But as long as he was outwardly following the rules, not to mention more than passably completing his studies, there wasn't much she could do. So she decided to keep an eye on him. And what better way than to keep him as close as possible? Keep him from suspecting anything too. Well, at least presumably."

Ariadne scowled in confusion. "What are you on about?"

Sissel's regard was so harsh as to nearly make Ariadne quail. "I saw it from the first second I laid my eye on him. I grew up with bullies, and I could spot one with my eyes closed. Calisto was a bully, and worse besides. He's . . . well, I don't know what, exactly. But he's bad news. And yet . . ." She shook her head. "Even I could not have suspected, when we took on this mission of surveilling the necromancers . . . even I could not suspect that he would join them!"

Ariadne's eyes went wide. "Necromancy! Oh my . . ."

"Indeed."

"But . . ." Ariadne once again settled her eyes on the torches. They were getting farther out. "He seemed almost as if . . . no, _exactly_ as if . . ." Horrified, she gaped at Sissel. "As if he were the _leader_ , not a follower!"

Sissel rubbed at her brow. "Aye," she said. "You're not wrong."

"Are you saying . . . ?" She put her hand over her mouth. "That Calisto is the _leader of a group of necromancers_?"

"No, not that at least," Sissel replied with a shake of her head. "The group is led by another, thank the gods. But I know that in a relatively short time, he has risen in their hierarchy. Tell you the truth." She rubbed at her brow again. "I'm not even sure that they are mere necromancers. There is considerable . . . _power_ linked to this gang. I do not know where it's coming from. But I'm—and Faralda certainly is—quite troubled. So this is by no means only about Calisto."

"Oh my." Ariadne knew perfectly well she should've been able to come up with something more eloquent to say. But she wasn't. There was simply no eloquent wording for what she felt at the moment. In fact she could barely make sense of it.

No, she couldn't make sense of it _at all_.

 _Necromancers!_

It was the one thing that the College most decidedly frowned upon, as did all of the schools of magic that had spawned from the original Mages' Guild. This had been the case since . . . well, since forever she supposed. She thought she could remember some story about a powerful mage long, long ago—she hadn't the faintest idea as to his name—who'd wreaked havoc in Tamriel and who'd precisely dabbled with the dread art, and perhaps this had something to do with it. In any case, it made perfect sense to her. Waking the dead did not sound like a good idea at all—for _any_ reason!

 _How do they, like, move about without souls?_

With a twinge, she then remembered again about the scholar. _How are we going to get her out?_

"We have to return to Faralda," she said. "She's bound to know what to do."

To Ariadne's dismay, Sissel shook her head. "No can do. She was very particular about that. Lest my life be directly forfeit, I am to carry on the mission to its end."

"Mission? What mission?"

Sissel nailed her with a stare of gray iron. "The objectives are for me to specify. But once I've specified them, I must needs to meet them."

"And have you?"

The woman smiled a cold smile. "Indeed I have." She clapped a hand on Ariadne's shoulder. "We follow them."

 _Excuse me?_ Ariadne thought.

"Excuse me?" she said.

"Sorry," said Sissel. "Can't do that. I need your help."

"That wasn't what I—"

"You didn't seriously intend to simply split, did you?" That was, in fact, exactly what she'd intended to do— "And leave your friend in peril?"

"She's not my friend!" Ariadne snapped, earning a raised eyebrow from the other woman. "Ahem, well she's not, really. But yeah . . . I see what you're . . . I see what you're saying."

"Cheer up!" Sissel said, clapping her shoulder again. "Thought you were just dying to get some excitement! With Calisto, no less. And though perhaps not exactly the way you pictured it—"

"Please," Ariadne said. She did not need to rehash the deeply embarrassing mother of all misjudgments she had apparently made for years now. "Can we just drop it?" She sighed, and gave a nod she hoped to be more of resolve than of capitulation. "Of course we have to follow them. I was never . . . —Well, shall we go?"

They afforded the preceding posse of evildoers a decent headway. After all, it was easy enough to follow them in the dark on account of their torches. They couldn't be going far, as Ariadne remembered that Sissel had said they were holed up somewhere in the hold. They headed east and soon neared the border of Eastmarch, so they were bound to stop soon. As to whatever happened after that, she didn't know. In a way, she was afraid to ask. Yet she knew that she'd have to.

Sighing quietly, she turned to Sissel.

"So," she said, trying to keep her voice as low as she could in the oppressive silence. "What is the plan exactly?"

"We follow them into their lair. If I'm not mistaken it's not as busy now as at other times. First we wait." She turned to meet Ariadne's eyes in the gloom. "And then we go in. Get the scholar out."

Ariadne blinked in disbelief, then opened her mouth to comment. No, she decided, it was no use. Besides, she could hardly pretend that the plan was completely unforeseen. In fact, she'd suspected something in that vein. _Part of the reason, I guess, why I was afraid to ask_.

However . . . "So you know where they're headed?"

"Aye," Sissel replied. "Fellglow Keep. That place has a long and nasty history of harboring the unsavory sorts."

"The Caller cult," said Ariadne.

Sissel glanced over. "Aye. I'm surprised you remember it."

Ariadne frowned. What was the woman implying? "It's rather difficult to ignore, the way they keep harping about it."

Sissel grunted quietly. "Understandable, I'd say, when a group of renegades breaks away from your school to establish a gang, getting into necromancy and who knows what nefarious stuff. There's a case to be made for warning examples, don't you think."

"I guess," Ariadne said with a shrug. "Though, some could also get ideas from that . . ."

Sissel glanced over again but made no comment.

Ariadne sighed and set her jaw. Diving into a necromancer's lair, just the two of them, after a man who could quite possibly defeat them both all by himself? And he wasn't even their leader—who knew how powerful some of them might be! _Yeah, yeah. Makes perfect sense. By all means let's go. I mean, I just only barely got away from him mere moments ago, so of course I want to just run back into his lap! Thanks for asking!_

But they were doing it. And, by gods, if this was to be the death of her, at least she'd go out with a blaze! She'd give them one gods-damned of a bloody fight!

She took a glance at the hard-faced woman riding half a horse's length ahead of her. This time she hadn't detected any eerie sensations from her. It almost made her wonder if she'd only imagined the whole thing. _Though even if I did, that doesn't change how she is deep down, and I for one can't fully trust her._

Was that truly her biggest worry right now?

Even if she'd had scant success with controlling the way her mind worked today, she decided to let everything extraneous fall away. There was only one thing she needed focus on, and the peril which undeniably loomed over their current endeavor at least seemed to help a little. She was also relieved to note that magica was slowly coming back to her, as the poison slowly lost effect. Obviously she could not be doing what they were planning to do without magic. As highly as she generally did tend to regard herself, she had to admit that she was next to useless without her magic. Not feeling connection with it had been perhaps the single most traumatizing experience in her life thus far: a fact she only fully appreciated now that it was finally returning.

A bit longer, and Ariadne felt like her old self again. Well, disregarding, perhaps, the shock Calisto had caused her, which she was still reeling from. She knew there were aspects to that shock which she could not start processing yet—but she nonetheless knew that such a moment yet lurked ahead. There were aspects of herself that she'd be forced to face if she was to learn the hard lessons imbedded in that experience.

That moment, however, was not now.

After some half an hour of following the villains, they came to a stop. In the distance, the hulking ruin of Fellglow Keep brooded in the dim moonlight. They gave their quarry another half an hour to settle back into their lair before they started advancing again.

They came at the keep from the south. Its half collapsed barbican loomed under a shroud of darkness in the near distance. The women dismounted and left their horses hidden among the abundant crags and boulders stabbing the hillside, continuing to approach the fortress at a creep.

From a stone throw's away, the first shifting shadow of a sentry on the top of the barbican's one remaining tower came into view. Just a blob of darkness in the faint light of the moons leaching arduously past the veil of clouds.

Sissel halted, then pulled Ariadne down with her to squat beside a waist-high boulder. The woman squinted in the direction of the keep. "Just as I thought," she said. "Quiet today. Alright. Wait here a minute."

Before Ariadne had a chance to object, the other mage was going. A glimmer of faint light rippled about Sissel, and after a confused split second, Ariadne realized the woman had cast a spell. Invisibility, she guessed, though of course _she_ could still see her. But that was because Ariadne knew that Sissel was there. One who did not know, could not. However that was supposed to work.

Ariadne shook her head. Illusion was not her cup of tea.

Even after the form of the other woman had vanished into the shadows, Ariadne still imagined being somehow able discern her. By now, she had reached the tower, which stood tilted as though mere minutes away from collapsing. Soon, Ariadne thought she saw a nebulous shape deftly scale the stairs connecting the tower to a lop-sided gateway. A second later it had reached the sentry's shadow. The latter suddenly jerked and then simply vanished.

Nothing for a while.

Ariadne waited. Growing impatient, she fingered the amulet of Dibella around her neck through the cloth of her robes, in a bout of aberrant disquiet. Then she heard the scrape of Sissel's boots drawing hear. She could not see her, however, before the woman said, "Course clear" right in front of her face.

Ariadne jumped, squeezing her eyes closed in irritation. Yeah, of course. Once she lost the visual of Sissel, she became invisible to her as well. _I hate damned illusion!_

"Sorry." Sissel's grin conveyed nothing of this alleged sorriness. "There were only two of them. Taken care of. Let's make haste!"

What earth-swallowed remains were left of the keep courtyard were eerily quiet. Every shadow looked like a potential threat to Ariadne. But she swore to herself, there and then, she would not start chickening out now. It simply would not do. She just couldn't get scared of her own shadow every time push came to shove, if she was ever to become a full-fledged mage.

A self-defeating thought tried to manifest itself, but she squashed it down before it got the chance.

Sissel steered them to their left where a tower had once stood, now with only a little more than a third of its face left. A curving stone stairwell led down into the keep's basement, and that was where they headed. Made sense not attempting to crash through the front door, Ariadne reflected. And besides, this way more than likely led to the keep's dungeons, where in all probability the scholar was being held. _Gods, I hope only_ held _!_

They entered through the half-rotted door and rancid, stale air roiled into their faces. With her own pledge of forbearance fresh in mind, Ariadne braced herself against the pong without as much as a word. Upon entrance, another stairway dove into the basement's shadowed maw. She shoved aside any notion of discomposure, and just kept following Sissel.

However, after just a couple steps, she stopped dead in her tracks. The stairway led straight into a pool of water. The hallway below was completely flooded, at least waist-deep.

Sissel had pulled up short also. "Well," Ariadne said to her, "can't go there."

Sissel looked over her shoulder at the younger woman, the tiniest of quirks about the corners of her lips. "Afraid of getting wet?"

 _What's that supposed to— Ah, never mind_. "It's obvious that the way is closed. Have to use the—" She closed her mouth. _Shit_.

"The front door?" asked Sissel with a sardonic curve of a brow.

Ariadne settled her eyes back onto the murky water and sighed. "Really?"

"Really," Sissel confirmed. And she was again descending the stairs. "Don't worry, you'll dry."

 _I suppose fire will dry us both up nicely once they catch us_ , Ariadne thought bitterly, following in resigned step.

She stopped once more at the last dry stair to falter for another second, while Sissel simply waded into the water without slowing. Another sigh, and Ariadne did her best to imitate the other woman's intrepidness.

It sure wasn't easy. The water was miserably cold, and as soon as it had gotten as far up as her shins, she had to struggle hard against the wince trying to twist her visage out of shape.

 _If you're afraid of a little water, of a bit of discomfort—well, then you simply ain't cut out for this lifestyle._ After all, no one ever said being a mage was a walk in the park. Or it was, it was the sort of park that could try to kill you at any given moment. _So get over it, woman!_

Dropping the idea that things were supposed to be somehow different did help, but it sure as hell did not make the water any warmer. Or less fetid. The air around them was sickening, reeking of waterlogged leather left crumpled for days and days—times a hundred! Ariadne had to breathe through her mouth in order to keep nausea at bay.

With water up to her abdomen, it was slow going striding thought the gloomy, winding passageway. The place was in such a decrepit state as to not differ much from a nature-shaped cave. Thick paddings of lustrous green moss covered everything, walls and ceiling cracked and chipped so as to efface any notion of building and design, tendrils of roots sticking out through the ceiling. At least someone had still seen it fit to supply the place with a couple torches here and there, and had the courtesy of lighting them no less!

Sissel seemed to know exactly where she was going, and Ariadne followed the woman without questioning.

Finally they entered a large, high-ceilinged space. To the left was a balcony which took up that entire side of the room. There was light shining up there, and it no doubt led further into the keep. Ahead of them was a flight of stairs leading to the balcony, as moss-topped as everything else around here.

Looking over her shoulder with a finger on her lips, Sissel gestured at the stairs. Then she made to splash towards them. Ariadne bit her teeth together and followed. But right before reaching the stairs, Sissel stopped in her tracks, her knees bending lightly as though she were narrowly dodging something flying above her head. Ariadne likewise stopped, cocked her ear towards the stairs.

Shuffling sounds of someone coming.

Alarm in her eyes, Sissel spun. "Someone's coming!" she hissed, wading back to where Ariadne was standing. "Quick—do you know Waterbreathing?"

Ariadne _hated_ alteration magic! Dismayed, she shook her head. _Well, we got this far. Guess it's time to start blowing things up, then_.

The steps kept getting closer.

"Come here, quick!" Sissel threw her arms out toward Ariadne.

She had no time to react as the other woman dove at her, grabbing the back of her head while pressing her mouth against hers. Ariadne could feel her eyes bulge out of her head.

And then Sissel, surprisingly strong, forced her underwater.

Animal panic took her, as she suddenly felt powerless against the older—and, it seemed, much stronger—woman. She struggled as best she could, the cold water hampering her movement. Yet, despite her anxiety, she realized that in spite of being underwater, she was still able to draw oxygen into her lungs through the other woman's mouth.

Sissel then grabbed her hard by her hair as if to draw her attention, motioning with her eyes toward the stairs.

Ariadne, managing to calm down as air kept flowing into her lungs and as she got used to breathing in that manner, followed her gaze.

There, on the steps, stood a blurred, wavy shape of a man. An ugly one, as might be expected. His brow furrowed, he appeared to be searching the room with his eyes. They did not, however, thankfully ever fall to the water level. First of all, there would have been the conspicuous air-bubbles bleeding out through their nostrils and from the sides of their interlocked mouths. And despite the water's murky nature, Ariadne had no doubt that they were discernable in the shallow pool: huddling there at the bottom, locked together like clandestine lovers.

She wondered passingly why Sissel hadn't simply turned them both invisible. Was she perhaps only using the excuse to get to put her mouth on Ariadne's? Had she been but waiting for an excuse all along? But then it dawned on her that, even had they stood there all invisible, the water would have still strangely swerved about their bodies, and this might have called the man's attention. And that might have caused the spell to be broken. At least that's how she thought these things worked.

 _Then how is_ this _thing working? I mean, this is clearly air that she's giving me. How's that even possible, if what goes in through her nostrils is water? Is the water automatically converted into oxygen once it passes into her?_

Irrelevant just then.

She lowered her eyes from the man to the woman attached to her. Sissel's eyes were closed, and this in its way rekindled Ariadne's suspicions. _She sure seems like she's enjoying this!_ She decided to push such misgivings away for the time being, for the scant services they were doing her.

Something moved in the corner of her eyes, then, and as she looked over she saw a fish swimming past _. Now, how in sweet Oblivion can there be fish living here?_

Looking up again, she saw the man shrug to himself, feeling a twinge of hope that he would just go away. Before he did, however, he did something else. She frowned deep as she watched the man undo his breeches and pull out his cock.

Then her eyes went wide, and she reflexively twitched against Sissel's iron hold once more.

The man let fly a yellowy spray, which punctured the surface of the water with purl almost directly above the two women. Ariadne kept trying to wiggle away, but to no avail. Sissel's eyes had opened again, and as Ariadne looked into them right next to hers, there was no misinterpreting the rebuke in them.

 _Yeah, but . . ._ _ew_ _!_

She looked up, saw the piss dissolve into the water, spreading outwards in tiny disgusting bubbles. She stopped fighting, but closed her eyes so that she would not have to think about it. What if Sissel breathed it in? Would some end up in her mouth? _No,_ don't _think about it!_

It seemed to take forever, but finally the purl dwindled away. A couple more squirts, and as Ariadne reluctantly looked up she saw the man tucking the revolting thing back into his breeches. A second later, he had gone back to where he'd come from.

They stayed under for a few more moments, waiting for the man to get farther. Then Sissel let go.

Plunging out of the water as silently yet with as much force as possible, Ariadne strode away from the place where the urine had gone. She shook her arms frantically yet ineffectually. "Ew, ew, ew, ew!"

Sissel glared at her fiercely, a finger glued to her lips.

They stopped, listening. No sound save for the silent patter of water from their soaked clothes. In the distance, then, they heard the man hawking up phlegm. Not sounding as if he was coming back.

They continued. Dripping water, they filed up the stairs. Sissel cast another invisibility spell and, increasing her pace, finished the climb. Ariadne wondered how the trick would work this time around, given all the water trickling from her. _Maybe I'll need to study this stuff some more, just to get clear on these things._

Once she in turn reached the top, she found herself staring at the back of the pissing-boy, who stood some four paces away, strumming his fingers against a table top as if trying to decide what to do with his time. Ariadne's eyes widened as she then saw a rock the size of a child's fist floating in the air behind the man, hovering for his head.

So the woman was going to knock him—

No, the rock suddenly went flying past him, down the balcony and into the water below. As it splashed, the man's head whipped in the sound's direction. Then, before he had time to do anything more, the head whipped again: this time to all the way around so that he ended looking directly behind himself. This entirely unnatural pivot was accompanied by a resonant crack.

As his eyes seemed to stare directly at wincing Ariadne, she wondered whether the confusion showing in them was more over seeing her there or the unexpected turn of events in general. In any case, the moment was entirely ephemeral, and soon the eyes, emptied of any sentiment, rolled into his head, and his body collapsed from underneath him.

Sissel appeared back into view and beckoned Ariadne. Passing the man's corpse, Ariadne scrunched her nose down on it. She took an instinctive whiff of her clothes.

 _Do I smell like his piss?_

To her relief, she at least did not detect any such odor.

Into the passageway on the right, on the left side of which a stairway soon branched out to lead down below. They stopped there for a second. There was a round metal plate clearly visible on the ground at the junction. As clumsy an attempt at a booby-trap as Ariadne had ever seen.

Before they took to the stairs, she addressed Sissel. "Might it not be easiest if you simply turn me invisible as well?"

Sissel glanced over, looking almost irritated over not having thought of it before. "Right. Sure." She waved her hand, and a brief but somewhat disagreeable buzz ran through Ariadne.

Once it had passed, however, she felt no different. "Am I invisible now?"

"Should be," Sissel said with a shrug, and ran an eye up and down her body.

 _Did she just check out my tits?_ The way the wet front of her robes stuck to her chest, she was suddenly aware of the conspicuous vista afforded to anyone inclined to be interested.

"Let's just go then," Ariadne said, not feeling like thinking about it.

Down the stairs was the dungeon. The stench there held an altogether different kind of malaise. Stale and fetid in its own right, but instead of water and mold, it was sweat and blood. Piss and shit for additional texture. The rack sitting by the entrance did not look unused, the freshest bloodstains on and all around the hideous thing not many days old.

For her own self-protection, Ariadne decided to suppress all of her emotional responses for the time being.

The crammed dungeon's back wall was lined with iron-barred holding cells, four of them altogether. The one closest to them, on the far left, and the one at the opposite end, stuck out further than the two in the middle. In the second cell from the left, a shape lay on top of a bedroll, immobile. Small and slender, but face obscured in the shadows. Feeling a pang of foreboding, Ariadne drew near as quietly as she could. She could then discern the slight movement of a chest rising and falling, which cleared away some yet not all of her chagrin. Glancing around the corner to the right, she saw that barring the shape in the one cell the dungeon was empty. Table and chairs by the other entrance of the far right, but no one occupying them. Not a single guard left behind.

She snuck closer. " _Ariela_?"

The shape stirred at Ariadne's whisper, and then painstakingly rose into a sitting position. It was indeed the scholar, seeming more or less intact but bound by hand and foot with a gag over her mouth. As she then saw the mage, instead of the relief and thankfulness which would have been reasonable to expect, the expression taking shape in the woman's eyes was nothing short of dismay.

"Mmmf, mmff, mmm-mmmf," she mumbled franticly, shaking her head with at least equal fervor.

Ariadne frowned, trying to will away the invisibility spell. She waved her hands in front of herself. "No, relax, it's us! Ariadne and Sissel. We're here to bust you out!" She wasn't exactly whispering anymore.

It didn't seem to help. The woman was still vociferating agitatedly, her head following her bulging eyes, swiveling first to her left, towards the door, and then seeming to glare into the space behind Ariadne's back.

Ariadne scowled, leaning forward. "What are you saying?" She wondered why the scholar's eyes then rolled up into her head, with a resonant growl ensuing from her throat.

"What she's saying—" came the voice behind Ariadne's back, fast bringing her around. Her heart leapt, but not in the good way, as she saw Calisto leaning against the wall at the left end of the room, wearing a sweetly grin. "—is how absolutely lovely it is to see your beautiful face once more. And so soon, no less!"

He pushed himself off the wall, cocked his head at her with an ostensibly well-natured and sportive, yet so obviously venomous and malignant smile. "You came back to me," he said softly. "Just as I predicted you would."

Then the sound of the door on the far right bursting open. A host of robed mages barged into the room, each with their chosen flavor of destruction magic twirling at their fingertips, and each blessed with a mug uglier than the last. _Guess being an absolute eyesore must be a requirement of entry into this joint—perhaps in order to make Calisto look all the more dazzling next to 'em._

The mages filed in to cluster by the rightmost cell, stopping there to form a sort of barrier of flesh. Ariadne squeezed her eyes closed in dismay. Ambush! _Of course_ they would have anticipated the women's arrival! How could they have been so stupid?

No self-accusation or regret could be seen on Sissel's countenance. She snarled at the comely renegade mage with undiluted enmity. "You _rat_!" she hissed. "It's people like you who cause folks to regard mages with misgivings. But don't think for one second that Faralda was ever fooled by your act. And neither was I! It's plain to see what you are!"

"Aye?" Calisto replied with unconcern. "And what am I, then?"

"Like I said." Sissel's obvious loathing for the man then switched from fiery revulsion to ice cold contempt. She crossed her arms in front of her. "Just a rat, that's all."

Calisto seemed amused. "Really? And can a rat do this?" Abruptly he threw his arm out in the woman's direction and a glowing blue sphere flew at her. Zipping right past her face, it hit the rack behind her and dissolved outwards in a web of squiggling miniature lightings, emitting an ear-piercing sizzle.

Sissel had not as much as flinched. The only thing moving was her sandy, mid-length hair, buffeted by the blast, afterwards pointing every which way with wayward strands sticking to her face.

She shrugged, unimpressed. "A taught rat."

Calisto shifted impatiently, affording the woman a haughty glare. "You think you're so clever, don't you? Well, tell me this: if you're so clever, why did you let me act freely for so long? You were right there beside me for years, for Sithis' sake—why didn't you simply strike me down!"

Sissel made no reply.

He snorted. "I thought so." Plainly pleased with himself. He spread his arms out. "So, what now? You gonna challenge me or what?"

Sissel did not budge for a while and simply stood there with her arms crossed, on her firm features an expression unreadable save for its unhindered disdain.

She then suddenly undid her arms, and Ariadne braced herself, ready to offer her support despite the staggering odds stacked against their success. But Sissel only let the arms drop to her sides—for just long enough to cause one of Calisto's perfectly shaped eyebrows to arch in bemusement. Then she, slowly and deliberately, raised them onto the level of her head.

Calisto's bemusement only seemed to grow, concurrent with the curious fusion of disappointment and relief sweeping through Ariadne.

"You win," Sissel said calmly. "For now. Don't do anything to agitate them," she said, looking over at Ariadne. "This round is his."

 _Round? What damned round?! He's got the whole game, you stupid cow! And he's got us, to do with as he pleases_. And judging by the dark gleam of his eyes, not a great many savory things pleased this man.

Then, as the terrible, desperate dread started to dig its roots deep into Ariadne's soul, and as the apparently complete reverse sentiment incited the thoroughly self-satisfied grin upon Calisto's face, Sissel dropped her hands in front of her at lighting speed.

The growl "WHORESON!" was nearly drowned beneath the roar of the fire blasting out of her.

But Calisto was up to her speed, and just as soon as the roiling Wall of Flames reached him, his own hands were already up with the wavering force-field of a ward in front of him, bending about him at the edges to provide full protection against the conflagration.

Frustration colored the furious grimace on Sissel's face, but she nonetheless held the spell trained on the unperturbed-looking man.

In spite of being enthralled by the sudden events unfolding in front of her, Ariadne took the time to glance behind her to see what the other villains planned to do over what went down. Not much, as it turned out. They didn't appear to deem it necessary to try in any way to offer assistance to their leader: as insouciantly convinced, it seemed, as the man himself of his ability to clear the threat. And as Ariadne looked back at the fight, that harrowing certainty was starting to win her over as well.

 _I should do something! She's not enough against him!_

And yet something stopped her. Was it the knowledge that even she could not likely affect the outcome, but that if she at least did nothing then Calisto would have no additional reason to hurt her once he won? _As if he needs additional reasons! Look at him, he's just about evil incarnate! You're just a gods-damned bloody coward—that's all that this is about!_

No! No! It wasn't true—it just wasn't!

 _Was it_?

"Look!" Sissel snarled from between clenched teeth, still spewing flames; though by the looks of her, she was quickly running dry. Ariadne realized with a start that the woman was addressing her. "Whatever happens," she grated, sweat runneling down her face, "Do . . . not . . . attack him!"

 _As if you need tell me that!_

Ariadne was wracked with utter dismay. Oh, if Sissel only knew! She would be disgusted by her cowardliness—and rightfully so!

Before her rapidly budding self-pity had time to burst into full bloom, the unexpected happened. Calisto, who hadn't for a split second showed concern for his survival, vanished.

Just as soon, the fire from Sissel's hands died out. She frowned in confusion in the ensuing dead silence. "What the—"

And Calisto reappeared, with his grin intact, right to her left.

" _Boo_!" he growled.

There was no time for Sissel to react before his fist clubbed the side of her face, and she went spinning toward the floor. That crash, however, was never completed, as the woman caught herself with one hand, while concurrently pulling a dagger out of her boot. She uncurled her arm and the dagger shot out, darting straight at Calisto's head.

Yet he simply moved his head aside to allow the blade to continue unobstructed and clatter against the wall behind him.

"Nice try," he said, "Now I go."

The blue globes signifying conjuration appeared into both of his hands. He then appeared to toss them straight up into the air, except that instead of them going up, they disappeared. After a second, a sound like an inward explosion, and suddenly a jagged and curving black blade, partly transparent with a blue flame licking its surface, sat in each hand.

Giving the blades a swishing twirl, Calisto grinned down at Sissel. "Care for a dance?"

She threw a quick glare at Ariadne. "Stand back!" she barked. And she pushed herself upright, dashing at Calisto, a blue flame as the one consuming the man's Bound Blades coming upon her.

Calisto prepared to welcome the woman, the blades poised in front of him. Yet her sudden dash seemed to confuse him as well, as it certainly did Ariadne. What was she—?

And Sissel drew herself together, plunging headlong—with her hands balled into fists and pushed before her—at the bemused young man. Before he'd the chance to intercept with his blades, the power manifest as the blue flame engulfing the woman looked to flow outwards, concentrating in the air between the two mages.

Ariadne gaped. _What in the—_

An explosion ripped the air. She was forced back against the bars of Ariela's cage, and had to raise an arm in front of her face for protection. In the commotion, she had barely enough time to catch a glimpse of the two opponents flying into two separate directions. Calisto crashed into the wall next to the doorway, and Sissel was tossed back, sailing into the gaggle of mages, knocking down a pair of them before plummeting hard to the ground.

Ariadne cast about in the following silence. Sissel lay motionless in the midst of the villains, who were recovering from the surprise, save for the other of the two who'd gone down with her. In the other direction, Calisto wasn't moving either. He was face-down by the wall that he'd collided with.

Seeing him there, Ariadne dared hope. Him being dead might not mean that her problems were over, but at least she had a better chance fighting these mages with him out of the game rather than in it.

Her heart sank as the man then stirred, letting out a long droning groan. A second later he bounced up, the look of bewilderment across his features considerably marring their aesthetics, as did the blood running down from a cut in his hairline and the singed ruddiness of his skin.

"What the fuck was that!" he cried.

One of the hooded henchmen, or in this case a hench _woman_ , placed a pair of fingers on the inert Sissel's neck, then looked up. "She's dead."

 _No!_

Calisto looked almost disappointed at first, but then donned an expression passably satisfied. He nodded. "Good."

Her consternation dwindling away, Ariadne fixed a stare of unalloyed resentment on the man.

Who then seemed to remember her. His bewilderment had subsided, exchanged for the characteristic swaggering grin. "Ah! And Ariadne, my sweet." Arms out, he slowly advanced. "Finally just the two of us."

Ariadne cast a look in the direction of the mages, raised a brow at Calisto.

He waved a hand. "Forget them."

She did a similar gesture with Ariela. The woman looked petrified.

"She means nothing to me," Calisto said with another dismissive wave. He kept coming closer. "Look, it needn't be this dramatic. There's nowhere you can go. Nothing you can do, save for fighting me." He stopped, tilting his head. "Do you, perhaps, intend to try your luck next?"

She wanted to. Badly.

And she really, _really_ did not.

And, in any case, she didn't.

Calisto resumed walking. "I was hoping that you weren't so foolish." Then he was right in front of her. He slowly reached out his hands, to gently place them on either side of her face. She did nothing to stop him. He smiled. "Now, let's talk, you and I. Hmm?"

The image of poor Sissel's pained expression flashed across her mind. She gave her life. For . . . what? For nothing, that's what! So that Ariadne could simply stand here, her face in the hands of a maniac who was no doubt planning ghastly things for her. The man who killed Sissel—a truly brave woman who had ever tried to do what was right, to protect Ariadne.

Was she truly going to honor her memory by letting her sacrifice go in vain?

 _Whatever happens, do not attack him!_ That's what she'd said.

 _She was only saying that so I wouldn't get in her way!_

Whatever happened to going out with a blaze? Was it not better to die fighting rather than—

A flame inside of her, then, and she could feel it reaching all the way to her eyes.

 _Now!_

Calisto's hands abruptly squeezed hard around her head and, with a snarl, he violently pushed it back.

Exploding pain in Ariadne's skull.

 _Too late—_

And the world spun out into the void


	7. Mirror Mirror

**Mirror Mirror**

He was _hideous_!

She watched in helpless abhorrence as the abomination ambled into view from the encircling shadows. It was impossible to pin the manifestation down in any certain terms, as it seemed more a constantly mutating and altering collection of aberrant and unsettling mental imprints rather than an actual being of flesh and blood. Then how did she even know that the creature was male? Well, she didn't, but such was nonetheless the interpretation that her mind gave it. Underneath the ever shifting nightmare features, she thought that she could discern something of Dunmeri characteristics—though where this impression originated was yet another mystery.

She was nailed into place, her mouth hanging open in dismay as this vile thing of horrors slowly slithered hither with viscous motion of absolute demonic crudity. The sensations that the creature's presence inspired in her were an additional cause of chagrin, the fear clutching her chest being the least problematic. For in addition to that quite natural response, she couldn't but notice certain growing fascination. What could this thing be, and what could its presence signify? For all its alien qualities, it yet held something familiar. There was the feeling of recognition—as if the monster she'd insisted lived in her childhood bedroom's closet was paying her a visit after all these years.

And yet that was not all. For in what the being represented, the malice and brutality plainly manifest even in its most trivial facet, was also a subtly enticing promise of power, a seduction of sorts. It promised not only terror and suffering—and it certainly did promise those!—but also a perverse type of pleasure. The horror and brutality, she realized with a shock, held a vein of underlying _eroticism_. There was sex in death. There was delight in torture. Ecstasy in carnage.

Underscoring these subtler sensations, the throbbing ache in the back of her skull kept growing as the creature drew nearer. That and the accompanying nausea increasingly took her attention away from everything else. She could not concentrate, only stand still and wait for whatever it was that was about to happen.

 _Where even am I? What does he want with me?!_

"Ariadne!"

She frowned. For its unsightly aspect, the creature had an agreeable, warm baritone voice.

 _Wait—it knows my name!_

"Ari- _aaa-_ dnee!"

No, it wasn't the creature—now starting to blur about the edges, becoming indistinct at its center—at all who had spoken. Someone else.

A different kind of monster altogether.

The ache was still in her head as Ariadne opened her eyes, accompanied by weltering nausea. She closed them again. Without reflection, she willed health into one hand and waved it beside her head. A golden light spiraled about her supine form, bringing a wave of relief which not only evicted the pain in her head but relaxed and nurtured the rest of her aching body as well.

As soon as she felt better, her eyes flew open. She scowled.

"There you go."

She sprung up off the musty bedroll, only to see the despicable, attractive features of Calisto, grinning at her on the other side of room-height latticed wrought iron bars. She'd been locked into the middle cell adjacent to the one holding Ariela. A quick glance confirmed that the scholar was still there as well, now freed of her gag and bindings yet not looking any more chipper for it. Behind the man, seated by the table next to the door, was another one. A crony.

"Sorry about the clout," Calisto said, motioning at Ariadne's head, not sounding particularly sorry. "I'd no choice but to intercept before you acted upon the foolish notions you were starting to entertain."

She looked down. Gone were her sodden adept robes, and instead she was clad in a beige tunic of rough spun wool. Not the most flattering piece of clothing, to be sure. She lifted her gaze to Calisto.

"Ah, yes," he said. "Had you toweled down and changed into dry clothes. Wouldn't want you dying of hypothermia before your time, now would we? No, no! Don't worry, my sweet. I put a pair of women to it. I didn't sneak a peek, I promise!" He covered his eyes with one hand. When he removed it, there was an unnerving shine to them. "I'll be saving that for later."

Through a natural progression, the feeling of disquiet caused by the man's manner ignited a spark inside Ariadne. Her expression grew dark with the heat flashing through her. "Bastard," she snarled, as flames gushed out of her hands. Letting her regain her magica would prove to be a fateful oversight—

"Ah, uh, uh!" Calisto sang, waving a finger in the air.

Ariadne stopped, frowning. Yet every muscle in her body remained clenched in preparation. The arcane flames about her hands humming silently.

Calisto flicked his finger in the air and a tiny little lightning bolt shot out. Ariadne flinched on instinct, but the small thing reached no further than the cell's bars and then it was flung back to its source, who deftly stood aside and let the baby-lightning dissolve into the wall behind him. A strange flicker lit every space between the bars before vanishing.

The man studied the flicker with a smile on his lips, then slanted it at the suddenly perturbed Ariadne. "Shalidor's Mirror," he said, confirming what she already knew. "So, I wouldn't go casting any spells I didn't want reflected back at me."

Ariadne scowled so hard that her face hurt. "You—"

"Bastard, yes I got that," said Calisto, in wearied tenors. "I'm saddened both by your lack of appreciation and, alas, of imagination. And I had such high hopes for you."

The flames about her hands died out. With that, all the resolve in her seemed to sap out as well. She sagged, suddenly hopeless.

"Oh, now," Calisto said. "Don't look so crestfallen. I still like you. I'll get over it and then we can go about like nothing happened. How's that sound?"

Ariadne picked her eyes up off the floor, willing defiance into them.

"That's right. Put your pretty chin up."

"What do you want?" she asked quietly, slowly approaching him.

"Why, I've got it don't I? What more can a man ask than the love of a beautiful woman?"

Ariadne stopped right by the bars. "Love?"

"You're saying it like it's a foreign word."

"To someone like you, I imagine that it is."

"Oh!" Calisto wrapped his hand around two bars and leaned forwards, grinning. "Are you still mad at me?"

Scowling, she cocked her head at his mocking words, then gave it a shake. "You're insane. How did I not see that before? You're . . . just fucking insane!"

"For you?" he offered.

Ariadne stared, disbelieving.

"Oh, now. Don't play games with me, girl." The ostensibly playful admonishment was soon followed by the darkening of both his aspect and his tone. "I might get mad. Believe me, you don't want to see me when I'm mad."

Despite herself, Ariadne leaned in closer. "What are you going to do, Calisto? _Cry_?"

A quick tautening of facial muscles, then he flashed her another grin, unconvincing in its supposed nonchalance. "Nice try. You're going to have to—"

Ariadne spat in his face. The mirror could not deflect that.

The grin frozen on his face, visibly struggling to maintain it for all his presumed insouciance, Calisto closed his eyes, a thick wad of slime running down one cheek. He reached into his pocket for a handkerchief. "Charming," he said, as he put the cloth to his face.

The chair behind him groaned, and the other man with the distinct look of a run-of-the-mill bandit slowly walked over to stand beside him. "Want me to teach her a lesson, boss?" His yellowed eyes turned to her, an unsavory gleam lighting them. "I'm good at teaching lessons," he said. There was little in the way of doubt that he very much liked to as well.

Ariadne suppressed a shudder, keeping her features firm.

"I'm perfectly capable of doing that myself," Calisto replied icily, handing the handkerchief over to the man.

"Never said you ain't," the man replied, pocketing the rag after giving it a quick sniff. He grinned at her. "Can't stop a man from trying, I suppose."

Calisto studied him. Then grunted softly. "No," he mused. "I suppose you can't."

As Calisto turned to regard Ariadne again, she couldn't believe how ugly he looked to her. Had there really been a time that's she'd looked upon those features with fawning admiration? Seemed hard to believe, as if it had happened long, almost a whole other lifetime, ago.

Then again, on some level she still—

 _Gods, listen to yourself, woman!_

Calisto gave a sigh. "Be that as it may. I did mention realizing that breaking you wouldn't be easy. But I do intend to do just that. And I do intend to enjoy it."

Ariadne contemplated putting her fist through the bars and into his nose. But before she could think of acting on that impulse, the man stepped aside.

"Yes, and in fact I'm thinking I may just end up having both of you." He stopped to regard Ariela huddling there on her bedroll. "The more the merrier, as they say."

The scholar gave a quick, terrified glance at Ariadne, but then cast her eyes back down as if unable to face the dreadful situation. Ariadne could not blame her for it.

"Perhaps I'll end up borrowing a page from Arondil's book. That man has some interesting ideas. Of course," he sighed with feigned resignation. "It will hurt. A lot. For quite a while." He met Ariadne's eye, motioning towards Ariela. "I'll start with her. You can watch."

She glowered, robbed of words.

"What?" Calisto, smirking, returned to stand before Ariadne's cell. "Are you afraid that you would enjoy that?" He studied her, as though actually waiting for reply, then said, wistfully, "Yes, there are so many things that I could teach you—if only you'd let me."

Ariadne stared at him in powerless fury, then suddenly remembered Sissel. The poor woman!

"What's wrong, sweetie?"

"Sissel," she snarled. "She knew about you, why did she never warn me? _Was that what all of those glares of hers were all about?_ Oh, if only she had trusted Ariadne's judgement and shared all her misgivings! Then Ariadne wouldn't have—

 _Who am I kidding?_ she thought in dismay. _I would have just brushed her warnings off. Who knows, things might even be worse right now—though how, I can't even imagine._

Calisto shrugged. "Most likely she didn't trust you. And in spite of all her assurances to the contrary, I really don't think she had me pegged as well as she liked to believe. Frankly, I think she had something of a thing for me. Yeah, yeah, I know: she didn't go for fellas. But I'm hardly just another fella, now am I? I'm sure you of all people can attest to that. Anyway, don't feel too bad for the old girl: she lived by her own convictions and took her chances where she had them. I can actually respect that. And don't you worry, she still serves a valuable purpose even dead. Those of us who dabble with the whole reanimation business and whathaveyou are always pleased to get some fresh meat."

The aghast Ariane returned to the one thing at her disposal, and gaped. "Unbelievable," she muttered. "You're one warped piece of—

"Calisto."

With stupendous alacrity, Calisto stepped back from the bars, like a child caught doing something he shouldn't, swinging toward the door to welcome whoever had uttered his name.

The atmosphere in the dungeon, uneasy enough as it had been already, grew ever tauter with the assembly of dark-robed, cowled figures that then filed in. In the lead was a figure taller by a head than most of them and conspicuously gaunt even in the loose-fitting robes. It was this figure that the young mage now received with obvious deference.

"Here you are." As the figure removed the cowl, an odd chill ran through Ariadne. The woman's appearance could not possibly have better matched her voice. The totality made Faralda seem like a breath of balmy summer air in comparison. The emaciated deathly pale features, the slicked back ice blond half-long hair, the peculiar different-colored eyes, one green and the other blue, all contributed to the eerie impression, as though her whole appearance had been designed by someone with a uncanny penchant for hyperbole. Then, as this Ice Queen of the Dead slowly ambled over to Calisto, she took a sweeping survey of the caged women, showing little in the way of interest save for the discomfiting flash of cursory amusement as those strange eyes met with hers. Ariadne thought that she could discern Altmeri undertones in the Nord's features.

The woman stopped in front of Calisto, standing roughly one inch taller than him, and smiled the way a snake might at a rat. "I can see that you have secured your toys."

"Aye," Calisto said, sounding uncharacteristically indeterminate. "They walked right into my trap. Never underestimate the stupid solidarity of the sheep, isn't that what you always say?"

"Yes," the woman replied. Something in her way told Ariadne that she drew amusement from the way Calisto had echoed her words—being, perhaps, of the judgement that a crucial aspect of them had escaped the young mage. "Very good." It was almost as if she were speaking to a well-trained dog.

"I, uh, think I'll start work on them as soon as I can. Free up the cells, you know."

"Will you, now?"

The woman gave Ariadne another glance, mostly devoid of interest, then settled her mismatched eyes on Ariela. Something approximating an emotion momentarily flashed upon her countenance, soon passing. She slowly walked over to Ariela's cell, the heels of her boots clacking on the flagstones, sand crunching underneath.

Ariela kept her head cast down, even as the woman stopped to study her. Ariadne could see that the scholar felt those eyes on her, and she looked to be wilting under their scrutiny. Yet, despite the lack of reaction, the woman's stare held.

 _What does she want with her?_

The woman spoke then. "Our end of the bargain holds." She nodded, not seeming to be expecting confirmation from anyone. "You may do as you wish."

Calisto smiled. "You can be sure that I shall. They are my prisoners, and I'll—"

" _Yours_?" The frosty note in which she uttered the word as she turned to face the man sent chills down Ariadne's back.

Calisto seemed to wither some, yet stood his ground. "I was under the impression that this was what we—"

"Yes," the woman said. "' _We'_. An agreement between equals, no?"

Calisto swallowed, as she came to stand before him. Blinking, casting about for a reply.

The woman reached out a hand to grab him by the face, long pallid fingers pressing his cheeks so that his lips pouted out a little. She stuck her eerie, vaguely grinning face right close to his, locking his eyes with hers. "And was it not _I_ who agreed to let you have your little way? As I recall, there was no argument to be had, no negotiation. Only me granting you your wish. Out of the kindness of my heart."

Just looking at her, Ariadne had reasonable doubt as to the woman having a heart, let alone any kindness in it.

"Yeah, yeah," Calisto assured placatingly, "of course,"

"And I trust," the woman said, a serpentine croon bleeding into her voice, "you would not think of letting that go to your head. Dream of growing out of those britches of yours, if you don't mind the turn of words. Of growing too willful, too hungry for more power to supplement what little I've granted you thus far. I do, I have, and always will call the shots around here. For all intents and purposes, _I own you_. And I trust I need not remind you of the consequences should I one day feel that you have betrayed me?"

Calisto shook his head against her grip. "Of course! I would never dream of—"

The woman pushed him back, releasing his face. Calisto reeled, holding his face and keeping his eyes cast on the floor, looking humiliated. Ariadne felt dark joy over seeing him like that. _Despite the obvious, this lady can't be all bad_.

"We are getting ready to start," the woman told Calisto. "Do you think you're going to be long here?" It didn't exactly sound like a question.

"I'll be done soon," he replied tersely.

"Good," she said, then addressed one of the other cowled figures, "Tell old Faelmir that he can begin the ritual." The figure promptly sprung out the door, and the woman's eyes once more swept over the prisoners. "Do what you've got to do, but do it quick," she said, then drew the cowl back over her head and sailed out of the room with the rest of her robed cronies in tow.

Then it was just Calisto and the original henchman left. The latter stood back, reservedly observing his supposed boss, as he scraped together the remains of his dignity.

Ariadne stared at Calisto. Twice now, within a short period of time, her image of him had shattered in front of her eyes. _Peel a man, layer by layer_ , she thought, _and what, in the end, shall there be left of him?_ It was no accident that the woman had done what she'd done. Being humiliated in front of his supposed prisoners: why, that was the last thing he had wanted. And precisely what he deserved.

Then, as he looked up and met eyes with her, she gave him a smirk. _I can see you now! And I'm not impressed._

Coloring with anger, Calisto broke free of her derisive gaze and sought out his underling. "We have to get ready," he snapped. To the other man's evident perplexity, he waved a hand. "Change of plans, we leave as soon as we can. We can take care of them later. A couple more days in the waiting can do nothing but good for them." He shot a resentful glare at Ariadne. "Let them stew in it."

"So what's the—?"

"As soon as we're done here, with the ritual—subjugated the King of Worms—and after I've harvested whatever power lurks in Avangzand, I will show _everyone_ what a force to reckon with I truly am. First Nora, then that vampire bitch of Haafingar. I will teach them to toy with me!"

With his words, Ariadne noticed that Ariela's head had popped up. The woman was frowning.

The henchman scowled pointedly at the prisoners, then back at Calisto, only to have the latter wave his hand again. "Forget them! What power do they have to enact anything? Once I've returned, no one can tell me what I can and cannot do. This I swear by Sithis himself!"

He eyed Ariadne once more. It appeared as if he was weighing sufficient parting words, but then only hissed and spun around. "You stay here," he told the man. "I need to find my ceremonial robes. Now where did I leave the stupid thing?" He removed the satchel hanging over his shoulder and tossed it on the table next to the exit. "Guard this for me."

Without another look at his supposed prisoners, Calisto stormed out of the room. The remaining man looked nothing short of relieved. He took another glance at Ariadne over his shoulder, but barring a quick glimmer in his eye, didn't appear to harbor any intention to insinuate himself on her. For which she was thankful. She was rapidly growing tired of telling people off.

The man then moseyed over to the table and chairs, sat down and leaned against the backrest with hands folded atop his protruding gut. Sooner than what seemed reasonable, he was snoring.

Ariadne stood there for a long time, just staring at the place where Calisto had been. It was as though a thought was trying to break through but she couldn't work up sufficient mental momentum for it. Her mind was too much awhirl for her to make sense of. The gravity of their predicament weighed heavily upon her.

They needed to get out! And they needed to do so soon.

 _But how in Oblivion are we gonna do that?_

And yet, the thought of Calisto's manner in front of the strange woman couldn't but bring a smile to her lips. After all that the man had put her through, after the conceited and spiteful things he had said to her, the way he'd threatened her and hinted at what he planned to do with her as though she were his possession—well, seeing him all humiliated and submissive had been incredibly satisfying. To be sure, she could easily conjure images of far worse things that she'd like to see done to him.

"What are you smiling about?"

Ariela was standing by the bars separating their cells, staring at Ariadne, frowning. She looked harrowed to say the least.

"Don't tell me you didn't like to see someone put that bastard in his place the way she just did."

The scholar said nothing, and just shrugged. She sure did not look amused though.

"Well, I for one loved every second of it," Ariadne said, knowing full well she was exaggerating. "A healthy reminder he is only a man, despite what he would like you to believe. And like all men, he is weak. There's always a bigger fish, as they say, and he ain't even all that big." She shrugged. "Besides, I'm not intending to stay locked up here, waiting on his return so that he can try and do whatever he has in his depraved brain to do to us— Now, don't look at me like that!"

"No, no," Ariela said. "You misread me. I'm just . . . admiring you, that's all. Your indomitability."

"Oh," said Ariadne. "Well, sure. Um, so anyway, we have to come with some plan." She suddenly felt awkward.

"Beats me," Ariela said with a sigh. Then her expression became troubled. "Look, what he said—"

" _What he said,_ " Ariadne snapped, "was a bunch of blustering horse crap. It's clear that the creepy lady has him by the fruits, for all his pretending otherwise." She shook her head. "Gods, what a pathetic maggot! Can't believe I ever saw anything in him."

Ariela, also shaking her head although in a far more resigned manner, sat down on her bedroll. Ariadne remained standing there, surveying the bars as if searching for a weak spot in the spell, although of course she knew there wasn't one.

She'd heard of Shalidor's Mirror, of course, but never before seen it in practice. And she had no idea as to how it was possible to cast it on an inanimate object like this and then to maintain it. There was so much more, it seemed, to magic than what they were willing to teach at the College. But how did they think they were going to defeat people like this if they could not match their magic? Or perhaps it was simply that the more advanced stuff was saved for a small clique of elite mages? No, that didn't seem likely.

In any case, perhaps there was something, after all, to the grievances of all those people who'd left the school over the years to go searching for greener pastures.

 _Hardly pertinent at the moment, Ariadne. Better stick to wracking that brain of yours to figure out how to get out of here!_

The bars yet stood. The spell yet held. There was no getting around it: while those two truths remained unchanged, there was no way they could—

Glancing over toward the other cell, Ariadne frowned. The scholar was hunched over the trencher in her cell, picking at the meager and unappetizing fare which the bastards had graciously left for their prisoners. Her frown turned into a scowl.

"You're _eating_?"

Ariela looked up, baffled. "What should I be doing? I'm hungry."

"Yeah, but . . . I mean, you don't even know what's in it. For all you know it could be poisoned!"

Ariela frowned. "What would be the point of poisoning us now?"

"Well . . ." Ariadne searched hard for the good answer she knew should have been there. Then her eyes settled on the untouched trencher on her side of the bars. The dry bread, the overcooked baked potatoes, the sad grilled leek, and the measly slab of roasted salmon. They'd probably gone cold a good while ago, if they were ever warm. Yet she felt a pang in her stomach . . .

She took a petulant step at the trencher and kicked it over. It clattered into the furthermost corner, food scattering all over the floor. _There, that closes that argument!_ She glared at the bemused scholar, then went to stand moodily by the bars with her arms folded in front of her. _Stupid food. Stupid cell. Stupid Shalidor's stupid Mirror!_

The clamor had seemed to wake the guard up. His initial slumberous scowl softened as his eye went to the eating Ariela. He then reached out to grab a loaf of bread and a wheel of cheese at the far end of the table.

 _Oh yeah, go ahead you too. Eat up. You'll be swallowing your own teeth once I get to you!_ Her acrimonious thoughts did nothing for the empty gnawing in her stomach, as she watched the unbathed man attack the bread and cheese with a serrated knife.

A minute later, the door opened, and in glided one of the place's robed inhabitants, cowl pulled over its head as seemed to be their wont. _What are they hoping to accomplish with that anyway? Is it supposed to make them look all mysterious? Like a bunch of jackasses is more like it!_

The man gave the newcomer a minute glance, but seemed far more interested in the food he was stuffing in his face.

The figure stopped for a second. With the cowl Ariadne could not tell whether they were looking at the prisoners or not. But whatever the case, they soon turned around and faced the eating man, who again glanced at the nearing figure. A frown came upon him, his cheeks bulging with the food filling his mouth. Before he had time to react, the figure quickly lurched forward, snatching the serrated knife off the table. The man jerked in alarm, but was utterly defenseless against the knife, which the robed figure unceremoniously plunged handle-deep into his right eye.

A violent convulsion took him, and the figure caught him by reaching an arm behind his back, to keep him upright while he finished dying. It did not last long, and when the figure retreated its arm, the dead man retained his sitting position, head lulling back with the knife still sticking out of his socket. Blood and something else trickled out to pool on the floor behind him.

Ariadne felt vaguely discomfited by the display, and when she took a look at Ariela she found the scholar with both hands clapped over her mouth. _Bet eating doesn't seem like such a good call now._

More than anything, though, she was dumbfounded. _What's going on here?_ Her dumbfoundedness, truth be told, came with a side of foreboding. But whatever happened, she was ready to fight if it came to that.

The figure then went over to the row of four levers on the wall next to the door, grasped the two in the middle and drew. Ariadne's mouth fell open right after the door to her cell did. The scholar, her door likewise open, looked no less bewildered. The figure, as it briskly walked towards them, then pulled back the cowl. Ariadne's jaw dropped even lower.

Familiar features grinned at her. "Miss me yet?"

"Sissel!" Ariadne gasped. "But you . . . you . . ."

The woman looked amused. "Died? Yeah, I know. A neat trick, huh?"

" _Trick_?"

"I'll explain later. Come on you two, we have to go, pronto!"

"No, no, no," Ariadne insisted as she stepped out of her cell. "You owe me an explanation. That thing with Calisto, the explosion, not to mention the death part, how did you pull those off?"

"It was nothing, really. Mostly I was bluffing. I knew he would be waiting for us. Was more or less counting on it."

" _What_?"

"I'm not stupid," Sissel replied. "Of course he'd set us a trap."

 _Hey! What's that supposed to imply?_

"It went down perfectly, exactly according to plan. Sorry to cause you extra gray hairs, but I had to keep it even from you."

"Yeah, sure, whatever." _Gray hairs, speak for yourself!_ "But what did you actually _do_?"

"It was nothing."

"Like the Void it was!"

Sissel sighed, rolling her eyes. "Alright, look. What I did there I did not learn at the College. And in fact, it may be best that word of it doesn't reach Faralda, don't you think?"

"You've got to tell me!"

Sissel looked around, as if expecting her superior lurking in the vicinity, eavesdropping. "Perhaps we can see about that later. Our little secret, yes? I could probably teach you a thing or two."

 _Oh, I bet you could!_

Ariadne frowned. _Not now!_

"Something wrong?" Sissel asked.

"Never mind. Alright, I'm ready."

"Good. Let's get the hell out of here—"

"NO!"

Perplexed, both Sissel and Ariadne turned to Ariela. The scholar's eyes were ablaze.

"We can't go," she said, slightly less fervently.

"What are you on about?" Ariadne demanded.

"Why couldn't we go?" asked Sissel.

"Didn't you hear him?" Ariela asked Ariadne. "What he said?"

Ariadne shrugged. "He said lots of things. All a load of horseshit—"

"The _King of Worms_!"

She shrugged again. "Who's that?"

Ariela blinked, disbelieving. " _Mannimarco_?"

Ariadne made an expectant face. "Is that supposed to ring a bell?"

Ariela stared another moment, then shook his head. "Unbelievable," she muttered.

"Wait, wait, wait," Sissel said. "What's this about Mannimarco?"

"Who's Mannimarco!?" Ariadne demanded.

"Mannimarco," Sissel said patiently, a warding hand up for Ariela whose eyes were bulging out of her little head from flabbergastation, "was a powerful necromancer who in his time not only helped Molag Bal in his attempt at capturing Nirn during the Planemeld, but repeatedly went out of his way to gain power in Tamriel, going as far as controlling the Cyrodiil Empire at one point. He is no longer believed to exist in the mortal realm."

 _Aha. Well that does actually kind of ring a bell. Hey, that was probably the fellow I was thinking of earlier, the one who caused the whole necromancy ban to be instated_.

"Now," Sissel asked Ariela, "what does Mannimarco have to do with anything?"

"Calisto mentioned some ritual," the scholar said, "as did the eerie lady who stopped by here. She seemed to be their leader."

Sissel nodded. "Seems so. And what sort of ritual did they mention?"

"There were no specifics. But when talking to him," Ariela motioned at the dead man, "Calisto said something about 'subjugating' the King of Worms."

Sissel's eyes were wide. "No," she exhaled with a shake of her head. "That's impossible."

"Why would it not be possible?" asked Ariadne, in spite of not really following the reasoning of the women's exchange.

"Mannimarco," Sissel said, "as I said, is no longer believed to be in the mortal realm, yet this does not necessarily mean that he is dead. In fact, there are many who believe that he found a way to ascend to godhood, and to this day presides over necromancers, as their patron of sorts. This is at least my understanding; have you something more educated to add?"

"None," Ariela replied. "To be sure, we now tread a ground I've always found most confusing. Dragon Breaks and all that. Kind of bends my mind out of shape, the whole theme. Albeit immensely fascinating!"

"So what's that mean?" Ariadne asked.

"I wish to gods I knew," said Sissel. "But unless they're mad enough to try to bind a god to their will, there's a marginal chance that they've found a way to bind the soul of Mannimarco the man in order to reanimate him. Frankly, even the latter option chills my blood."

Ariadne's heart sank. "So we can't leave?"

"I'm afraid not. Ariela's right, this is something we absolutely must investigate. If we leave it here, Faralda will have us all _de_ -animated!" The woman then considered. "Of course, I can always just stay by myself, if you and Ariela wanna get to safety . . ."

"No!" Ariadne exclaimed. "Ahem, I mean, no. I couldn't possibly let you take this all upon yourself."

Sissel grinned. "I thought so. And how about you, Ariela?"

Ariela thought about it for a few seconds, then nodded gravely. "I must see this myself," she said. "Don't even ask me why."

"Don't worry, I won't. Just stay back and let me and Ariadne take care of things if it comes to that."

Ariadne frowned. " _If_? They don't exactly come off as a welcoming bunch."

"Well, it's evident that we're gonna need to procure us some of those robes."

"And then what?" she asked with foreboding.

"Then? Then we take part in their little ritual. Like Ariela, I've gotta see this myself. The King of Worms?" She hissed. "Shit, never thought I'd live to see the day!"

 _We'll be lucky enough to live_ through _it,_ Ariadne thought miserably. Yet, she couldn't deny that little growing feeling of anticipation. Wasn't this exactly the sort of action and excitement that she'd been craving? Was not the hallmark of any true adventure the inevitable possibility of imminent death? _Yeah, this is exactly what I wished for._

 _Look before you throw your wishes around_ , —Another one of his father's little sayings— _you never know what you'll hit_. She remembered him as a moderately wise, and most decidedly irritating, man.

Ariela slung her knapsack over her shoulder; the thugs had had the courtesy to include it with her in the cell. Perhaps so that the woman could entertain herself as she awaited becoming _their_ entertainment. This made Ariadne remember Calisto's satchel, which still lay on the table.

She went to rummage through it. _If you've got something valuable here I'm keeping it. But first of all, there's something of mine that I want back._

True enough, she soon found her amulet of Dibella in one of the inside pockets. She placed it again around her neck and continued rummaging. As she was doing so, a book fell out, but she didn't pay the stupid thing any mind.

The scholar, of course, did. She picked the thin volume off the floor. Then gasped as she read the title.

"What?" Ariadne asked.

"A biography of Ababel Alereth, the mad Ashlander" she replied, in awe, "I did not even know such a thing existed!" As she opened the book, a folded piece of paper fell at her feet, but she was too enraptured to take notice.

Despite herself, Ariadne asked, "Who's that?"

There was something of superstitious terror in the scholar's eyes. "The author of the infamous _Drarammshokhahn,"_ she pronounced. "Book of—" Then, it seemed, she astutely picked up on the dull light which had come upon Ariadne's regard. "Uh, never mind. It's not important right now." She stowed the book away in her knapsack.

The woman then seemed to notice for the first time the piece of paper on the floor. She reached down to pick it up.

Ariadne returned to her searching. She was about to throw away the whole satchel when she came out empty. Then Ariela gave an even louder gasp.

Ariadne, frowning, asked, "What now?"

The scholar looked up, her eyes wide in sheer horror. "It's a letter," she managed.

"Yeah? Well, it isn't like that's—"

"From someone I know."

Ariadne frowned again. "What?"

"I can't . . . I can't even believe it," Ariela said, her eyes racing back and forth on the paper as she shook her head.

"Well, come on," Ariadne said, pricked by unbearable impatience, "what's it say? Who's it from? Read it!"

The scholar's dread-filled eyes lifted to her, and then she did as asked.

"There isn't much," she said. "But it's more than enough . . . _'Regarding_ _your inquires as to what we want done with the quarry once she is in your possession, I shall say simply that she is all yours. We have no further need for her; all we ask is she be removed—_ permanently _—out of our way. So by all means keep her. Have—'"_ Ariela paused to swallow, a bitter expression on her. _"'—your fun! This, I believe, concludes any business between us for the time being. Fare well and may the blessings of—'"_ She paused again, closing her eyes in anguish, then resumed as a powerful emotion twisted her features. _"'—of . . . Hermaeus Mora be upon you. Yours, Plitinius Ceno, the principal of the Scholar's Guild of Tamriel.'"_

Ariadne had to admit that even she felt something akin to shock upon the final words.

"My guild," Ariela said, stricken. "My guild . . . has turned to . . . to Daedra worship." Her hand rumpled the letter as she slowly dropped to the floor. "No," she whispered. "I can't believe it."

Sissel came squatting beside her, laying a careful hand over her shoulder. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I can't even imagine how you must be feeling right now."

Ariela lifted pained eyes to hers, then again dropped them to the floor between her legs.

"However," Sissel said. "And I'm sorry if this comes across as insensitive. But we really have no time to fret about that right now. Can you put it aside for now before we're done here and back to safety? Can you do that for me?"

Ariela nodded weakly. Then a flash of something momentarily lit her eyes, and she nodded with more confidence, meeting the other woman's eye. "I'm alright," she said. "Frankly, I don't even know . . . how surprised I am, really. Should have seen this coming, shouldn't I?"

"Don't blame yourself—"

"I'm not! I'm blaming Plitinius, that . . . snake! I always thought there was something not quite right about him, and here's the proof." She shook her head in disgust. "I'll teach him a lesson yet—I swear!"

Grinning, Sissel clapped the scholar's bony shoulder. "That's the spirit! Now, shall we get to the bottom of this?"

"Let's get it done," agreed Ariela.

As Ariadne watched Sissel help the smaller woman up, she felt the stab of a double-edged emotion. At once admiration for both of her companions, their strength and resolve—even Ariela's, truth be told—and guilt over how she'd acted toward both of them. She did not care to dwell on the emotion, yet didn't push it away, either, as she would have in the past.

 _The Past—like an hour ago?_

She did, however, push away the derisive voice in her head. She could learn to admit to her mistakes, and even make amends, but she'd be damned if she let voices in her head push her around!

"Well, let's get us some of those robes, then?" she said.

"Let's," Sissel said with a nod. "Best if we try be stealthy, but we might have to take some of them down nonetheless."

Ariadne grinned. She could already feel the energy preparing to surge into her. She could feel the heat. The tantalizing prickle. "Believe me when I say, I have absolutely no problem with that!"


	8. A Whole 'Nother Can of Worms

**A Whole** **'Nother** **Can of Worms**

"Stay back, Ariela!" Sissel cried.

If they had planned a stealthy passage through the keep, it couldn't have gotten off to a much bumpier start. In the first room behind the dungeon door, three hooded heads whipped around in unison upon their entrance. The closest of the figures had been hunched over a naked, mangled corpse lying on a gore-stained table. The furthest one stood in the dark underneath a rusty gibbet with a pair of bare legs dangling out of the bottom, flames about her hands. The third one had been just walking from the former to the latter, as though mediating between the other two in their respective activities—undoubtedly pernicious whatever their precise purpose or nature.

Ariadne felt a surge of anger towards Sissel. _I suppose you just forgot to mention these here!_ That sentiment, however, was ephemeral.

Whatever they villains had been up to, more pressing issues now beckoned. The closest one, blueish glow of a frost spell coming about him, hissed, "The prisoners!"

The furthest one took one stride. "They've broken free!" She didn't exactly sound disappointed.

The one in the middle said nothing. And, with a start, Ariadne could then see why: her mouth was sewn shut. And, to be sure, she didn't exactly look all the way . . . well, alive.

The woman with the flames, the sole one of the three whose robes were of the ceremonial variety, then screamed something unintelligible, pouncing forward. A flaming sphere left her hands simultaneously with an Ice Spike projected by the closeby man, and Sissel and Ariadne dove in separate directions. The sphere exploded against the door, which the scholar had just managed to close for her protection, and the giant icicle shattered with a jingle as it hit the side of the doorway. Rolling, Ariadne saw the woman making straight at her, while the man moved to engage Sissel. The middlemost undead woman simply stood in place, as though taking the time to assess the situation with the distinctive lack of fervor of her ilk, while her living comrades rushed into action.

And speaking of alive: even if she'd tried, Ariadne couldn't have kept the grin off her face as she effortlessly pushed herself from the ground and, electricity pouring out of her, unleashed her fury on the robed woman. But even as the dual strings of lightning struck her, the woman showered Ariadne with a healthy dose of flames. Ariadne screamed at the scalding heat. She cut her own attack off, diving to one side as the searing pain hit her after the initial numbness. The hard floor knocked out a good portion of the wind in her lungs. Yet some part of her, the part responsible for keeping her alive even at her less lucid moments, prompted her to will magic back into her right hand, which she then jabbed blindly in the direction where she guessed her adversary to be.

To her satisfaction, she heard an explosion immediately followed by a grunt. The successful hit purchased her the few seconds that she needed to cast a healing spell over herself. As the curative energy restored the use of her eyes again, she saw the woman once more rushing at her. She tossed another explosive, while kicking her legs up to propel herself upright. The blast barely slowed the villain this time. Like Ariadne seconds ago, she onehandedly waved a healing spell over herself, simultaneously sending an Ice Spike flying.

Quick with her reflexes, Ariadne twisted her head out of the missile's way, then responded it with another Fireball. The other woman's reflexes were no duller. She swerved her pelvis so as to allow the projectile to sail past her without slowing her stride. And just as soon fire roiled out of her outstretched arms.

Ariadne's two-handed ward stopped the flames this time, and for some dozen heartbeats they stood there matching their powers. Ariadne bared her teeth, feeling her magica slowly drain. The woman in turn bared hers, but her yellowed-toothed snarl looked more like a hungry grin than a sign of exertion. This gave some cause for worry. What if the woman turned out to be much stronger than her? Gods knew she was older.

Before getting entirely depleted, Ariadne broke free of their engagement to swirl into hiding behind a heavy cross-shaped pillar to her right. For the sounds of fighting from Sissel and the man, however, she couldn't hear whether the woman was following immediately after her or not. Assuming the worst, she gave herself a scant couple of seconds to regain what magica she could before she decided to return to the fight. _Should always keep some magica potions with me!_

She let out a cry, as the first thing to greet her on the other side of the pillar was the jagged sharp edge of a Bound Sword, swinging at her face. She instinctively bent backwards and narrowly avoided the blow, only to receive the sole of the woman's boot to her stomach. Luckily the hit was less than perfect, and she managed to flex her abs enough to take the blunt of the blow. It still hurt, though, and send her stumbling backwards. She had semi-unconsciously grabbed ahold of the front of the villain's robes, and as Ariadne was thrown back the front came undone, revealing the broadly scarified skin on the woman's chest.

The woman pressed after her, the magical swords humming in the air as she attempted another wide swing. Ariadne dove from underneath it, front-rolling past her, to then take another kick, this one to the side of her head. She grimaced in pain, and, stumbling ahead, only just managed not to tumble onto her face. Once retaining something approaching balance again, she swung around to receive the woman, Shock already ready at hand.

The woman, however, had never relented for a second, and was already upon her. With no time to react, Ariadne could do nothing as the enemy caught her throat in the iron grip of one hand, violently ramming her into the stone wall. The spell guttered out as she frantically clawed at the hand blocking her airways, to no avail.

The woman leaned close with a vicious grin. "By the Ascended One," she hissed. "Let this one be a screamer!"

 _Go on and toss those wishes around, you ugly shit!_ "Fuck off!" Ariadne croaked—the best she could do for screaming at the moment—bringing her knee up sharply to drive it into the bitch's gut.

The woman reeled. Ariadne had to draw in a deep breath before being able to continue.

As the budding panic over her near suffocation soon ebbed, however, a surge of rage immediately took its place. With a more proper scream this time, she bolted before the woman had recovered from the blow to the gut. The shock spell once more crackling at her fingertips, Ariadne reached out to press both hands on the bare skin in the woman's chest, charged the spell, and then released it. She was propelled back herself by the force of the resulting discharge, and the woman was sent flying through the air. Her flailing, shrieking form sailed all the way across the room, ending up crashing into the wall by the dungeon door.

Sissel stood close to where the woman's flaccid body plopped onto the floor. The man she'd fought lay still at her feet, her other boot resting atop his bleeding skull. The older mage's eyes had followed the female villain's flight with practiced insouciance, and once she'd ascertained that the foul witch wasn't getting up again, she slanted an ironic look at the panting Ariadne across the room. "Well, you certainly took your time with it."

Ariadne scowled. "Would it have hurt you to lend a hand?"

Sissel shrugged. "Wouldn't have wanted to undercut your capabilities."

Too dumbfounded to find a proper response, Ariadne then remembered the undead villain. She was nowhere to be seen. And the dungeon door stood open.

As her eyes met with Sissel's, she could see that their respective lines of observation had traveled the exact same routes.

"The scholar!" they exclaimed univocally, and then ran.

Rushing at the door, Ariadne could already bring an image of the small woman's mangled body to her mind's eye. This was an oversight on her part that would take some time to get over. _How was I supposed to know that the thing had enough intelligence to go for the scholar! Seemed to me it was just standing there_.

In the dungeon, however, an unexpected sight awaited them. Ariadne blinked, astonished, at the inert, prone shape of the undead woman by the entrance. There was a dented gash on the back of her head, a copious flow of blood pouring neatly into the nearby floor drain. Beside her lay a hefty concrete block, stained red on one corner.

Ariela stood breathing heavily beside the corpse, staring at it with terror-wide eyes. As those eyes then lifted to the other women, the emotion in them showed no sign of lightening. "I . . . killed her."

What Ariadne wondered was how the little squirt was supposed to have lifted that heavy piece of concrete.

"Ah, not to worry," said Sissel. She kicked the body over, to reveal those ghastly features to the dismayed scholar. "This one wasn't exactly alive to begin with."

Ariela didn't exactly look comforted at first, but then the full implication of it seemed to hit her. "Oh," she said. "I see. Well, that's . . . something."

"It's something, alright," agreed Sissel. "Now, best we keep a move on if we mean to catch this ritual. Good call offing yours with a shock, Ariadne. Those robes wouldn't do us much good burned."

While she in her way appreciated the acclamation, Ariadne had to admit that no such thing had even for a split second occurred to her. "Yeah, of course."

The other villain was in turn bleeding from the head. Yet, to her chagrin, Ariadne realized something else as she leaned close. "She's still alive," she said, looking up at Sissel.

The woman shrugged. "Better finish her off, then."

"What?" said Ariela.

"What?" echoed Ariadne.

"Well, I don't know about you, ladies, but I wouldn't quite feel comfortable knowing that this one's breathing back here and might at any time sneak up on our rear. Or alert the rest of her pals. Look, if you're too squeamish, just let me do it. One less of these bastards walking 'round, and the world won't be any worse off for it."

"Please," Ariela said. "Can't we just . . . immobilize her or something?"

Sissel rolled her eyes.

"I'm with the scholar," Ariadne chimed in. "I've no problems killing them in a fair fight—or even an unfair one—but just executing an unconscious one . . . well, that seems to me a good place to draw the line."

After some moments of disgruntled eyeing of the two other women, Sissel grunted. "Alright, fine. We'll do it your way." She shook her head. "You youngins . . . Well, what are you waiting for? Get her clothes off!"

As Ariadne, with the help of Ariela, undressed the woman—an activity she'd really have preferred to forego—Sissel went to look for something to use for binding purposes. She soon returned.

"Alright," she said. "Here." Sissel tossed a length of rope on the ground at Ariadne's feet. "Tie her up!"

The palpable, profound disapproval from the senior mage left nothing to the imagination. She obviously did not agree with the younger women's pacifistic approach.

 _Well, whatever. Can't teach old dogs new tricks. Chalk it up to my youth if you want, but I'm never gonna sink to the level of a butcher!_

 _Never say never . . ._

"I say whatever I may please!"

Sissel and Ariela frowned at her.

"Never mind," she muttered, refusing to meet their eyes.

She was starting to slip again. The stress was starting to get to her. They needed to get this over with and fast.

Once in the robes, Ariadne actually felt a tiny bit better. Not that the garb was super attractive or anything, but it still beat the hideous gray roughspun tunic. Only now did she fully appreciate what an affront to her dignity it had really been. Her skin still chafed from it. But she still could not wait until she got her own robes back. Or, in the case that they were permanently lost, bought a new set.

"Oooooooh!"

With a start, they all swung toward the far end of the room, destruction spell about both mages' hands.

But there was no one there.

Then they noticed that the pair of legs dangling out of the gibbet at the back had started to wiggle. Another moan went with the wiggling. Then, "Who's there?" A feeble voice.

The women shared uncertain looks. Then they carefully advanced on the gibbet. Neither mage relented her spell, even if there did not appear to be an immediate threat.

They approached with care. Passing by the table where the male villain had been standing upon their entrance, Ariadne wrinkled her nose at the maimed corpse on it. Seemed as if he'd had been performing an autopsy of sorts, though to what end, was in no way obvious. The corpse's open eyes held an unnatural glow. A vampire.

She painstakingly suppressed a shiver, unable to imagine much nastier creatures.

"Come closer, come closer!"

Sitting in the gibbet was a naked shape just barely recognizable as male. Its unsteady, squeaky voice did not do much to help with recognition. But most of all, one did not feel particularly much like letting one's eye linger on the creature's hideously burned aspect overlong. The hairless thing's skin looked more like charred wood than anything resembling a man. Red eyes glowed in the midst of a darkened face, broken teeth showing in a wide, crazed grin.

"Aah, there you are!" the vampire sang. "You've kind faces, yes! Not many of those around, no! Not quite sure of what to make of that, to be sure . . ."

There was little in the way of kindness or sympathy in Sissel's eyes or voice. "Foul demon, you've deserved no less than what you've suffered!"

"Aye!" the vampire agreed gleefully. "True words, my friend! True words! She concurs, oh yes she does! She calls on me at my moments of respite and tells me so herself. My suffering greatly pleases her! Oh yes, Godrod is ever eager to please, yes he is! Ah ha-ha-ha-ha, _ooooooooh_!"

Sissel scowled in disgust.

"Let's just go," Ariadne said, not wishing to spend any more time in the vicinity of this dreadful thing.

"No, wait," said Ariela. "We can't just leave him like this!"

"What do you suggest?" Sissel said. "That we take him with us? As a pet, maybe? Pretty sure the smell of cooked meat would alert his owners to us in no time."

Ariela swallowed, looking sick. "Can't you at least, you know, heal him?"

After raising her brows at the scholar, Sissle scrunched her nose up the creature. "Even were I inclined to do so, there's only so much a simple spell can do for him at this point. Besides, you heard him: he's having a good time. All the proof you need, I think, that we eventually learn to embrace our sufferings."

"Just . . . please," Ariadne pleaded. "Can't you at least try?"

Sissel crossed her arms. "Forget it. I ain't about to waste precious magica for this— oh, for crying out—!"

Ariadne was showering healing light into poor nasty creature, ignoring the older woman's scowls.

After muttering, "Youngins . . ." with a shake of her head, Sissel strode toward the exit. "Well, hurry up about it, those robes aren't finding themselves."

The vampire did not appear particularly appreciative of the favor done to him, if he showed no sign of resisting it, either. But Ariadne soon learned that Sissel had spoken true: at best she could reduce the sickly burns all over the vampire's skin, and she could feel its vital functions—if indeed you could use that word about whatever unholy process kept the life in the undead—strengthening up to a point—but even if she'd kept it up all day, the healing spell could only go so far.

By the time she relented, the vampire had seemed to fall into something akin to sleep, though it looked to be far from restful. She sighed at Ariela. "That's all I can do for him."

She marveled at the genuine empathy shining in the scholar's eye, as the woman eyed the unholy thing. "Yeah," she said softly. "Well, thanks for trying."

"I could put it out of your misery if you'd like," Sissel called from the door.

At first Ariela looked to be considering the offer, but then shook her head. "No," she said. "Sometimes, I guess, we must simply take what the fates throw at us."

"Well said," Sissel concluded. "Now, if there's nothing else . . ."

She was absolutely right, of course. They couldn't afford to waste any time if they wanted to get on with their imprudent plan. And so they left the miserable creature to its miserable fate, and wallowed deeper into the disquieting fortress.

As luck would have it, they did not have to spend too long in search of the two more sets of ceremonial robes. The first they came across was worn by a lone woman moseying in the hallway. Sissel snuck up behind her and neatly snapped her neck. Even better, the second set of robes hung from a coat hanger just around the corner, so no one even had to die. Very convenient. So convenient, in fact, that it seemed barely credible.

But that wasn't the full extent of their good fortune. For it seemed that the place was more or less deserted, greatly reducing their chances of having to resort to violence again and thus running the risk of blowing their cover. During their nerve-rackingly careful walk through the silent corridors, hoods pulled deep over their head, they encountered only three other inhabitants. The first one was a man in a gloomy angular antechamber, sitting on a chair in front of a fireside at the far-left corner, slumped forwards so as to almost fall into the hearth, fast asleep. At the back of the chamber, to their right, there were three cages with dogs locked inside of them. Each of the large, shaggy things boasted eerie pairs of glowing eyes. Undead pooches. Now, what kind of a sick person's idea of a pet was such a thing? The shiver which then ran though Ariadne this time she had no hope of suppressing.

To their right was a stairway leading up to an exit, but Sissel led them straight ahead through another door. And after wandering though some more dead-quiet passages and chambers they soon came to an aisle of sort, at the end of which they met another figure. Dressed in non-ceremonial dark robes—cowled, of course—it stood in front of a plinth, head bowed over a book. He or she was faced in the direction the women approached from, but seemed either not to notice them or then simply not to care.

The aisle was lined with sarcophagi on both sides, and as the intruders slowly and nearly soundlessly approached the pedestal, they kept eyeing the closed stone caskets with apprehension, as though expecting them to burst open at any moment. Then, as they walked up to the plinth, the figure's head rose.

Ariadne suppressed a gasp. The man was at least a living one, even if the supreme pall of his complexion might have given cause to suppose otherwise; but what gave her a start were his eyes. They were gray, overrun by cataract. Blind.

Nothing in his expression changed as his unseeing eyes moved across the women, as though he were still somehow able to take their number. He soon let his head drop again, without any indication of acknowledging their presence.

Sharing another uneasy look, they then passed the man, wary as if still expecting him to stir to activity. Their steps picked up some speed once they were out of the aisled chamber.

The third denizen they found in a sequestered space comprised of four bookshelves in the middle of one room. They abruptly stopped as they saw him there, sitting by a small table with a half-empty goblet by his side, reading a book. The Redguard looked up from his book, and his lambent eyes gave Ariadne another start. This vampire certainly did not come across as any sort of prisoner.

She was preparing to launch an attack on the creature, but yet retained it. And it didn't seem as if their sudden appearance made much of an impact on the vampire. He simply eyed them for a brief moment without evident curiosity, the impassivity of his face verging on perpetual bemusement, and then simply continued to read his book as though finding nothing at all of consequence about the intruders.

Once again the women's eyes sought each other's. Sissel simply shrugged, herself seeming perfectly content with leaving the apathetic vampire be, then motioned for them to continue. And continue they did.

At length they arrived at large double doors. Behind the doors was their destination, the ritual chamber.

Sissel turned at the door, to afford the others a solemn regard. "Alright," she whispered. "This is it. Still time to turn back. No? Then follow me, try to appear as casual as you possibly can. Keep you features hidden, and _by no means_ do anything . . . well, actually anything at all. Just walk in, take your place and keep your eyes averted and your mouths shut. Understood?"

They both nodded, and Ariadne managed to bite back any caustic replies over the woman's supercilious tones.

Immediately upon entering the large, circular chamber, Ariadne had to once more stifle a gasp. The hall, lit by myriad candles on pedestals of varying height, placed between the columns lining the room, was filled with robed figures. The ritual floor was ten paces across, encircled by a ring of steps with the cowled people standing on them. In the middle was a star-shaped protuberance with bundles of stubbed candles at the tip of each arm, on which stood a plinth with a crooked staff leaning on it. The staff, by the looks of it an ancient thing, was an altogether eldritch affair, culminating in a rotten human skull held in place by skeletal hands. There seemed to be some sort of amulet hanging from it.

But it wasn't any of this, even the improbable looking contraption, which had drawn the barely detained gasp from her. It was whatever flowed out from the staff.

A very tall and equally gaunt figure with his pallid, long-fingered hands raised stood one step behind the plinth. He was robed and cowled like the rest of them, with the exception of his face being covered as well, hiding behind a strange iron mask which had the appearance of the death mask of some alien being. The words he was muttering were incomprehensible, probably not solely due to his voice being muffled by the eerie facade. But in spite of that, it seemed that whatever he was saying came with evident consequences. For what seeped out from the ghastly rod in front of him was growing in intensity in the air overhead. The sinuous, whirling blue-and-white apparition was the single strongest manifestation of magical energy that Ariadne's young eyes had ever seen. The lustrous pearlescent center of it was slowly taking form, gaining sharpness and density as the humanoid contours became more apparent. The chamber was awash with a crackling, humming sound which further drowned the figure's mumblings, and a weak but steady gust of wind fluttered the numerous candle flames and the robes of those present.

The newcomers, receiving a couple passing glares, took their places as swiftly and unnoticeably as they could. Ariadne and Ariela followed Sissel like a pair of obedient dogs, staying close to the door with their heads bowed. Although of course Ariadne could not keep from looking at what transpired in the middle.

No sooner had they settled down when the man in the center raised his voice. "And so, by the powers vested in me, I call upon thee, _Mannimarco_ , _the King of Worms_ ," he chanted. "We, the humble acolytes of the Temple of Sithis, compel you!"

"We compel Mannimarco!" chanted the others in a single voice.

Ariadne started at the striking resonance of the chorus, and was prompted to study the cultists. Solemn faces shadowed by the rims of their cowls. Somehow the sight of them made her shiver even worse than the apparition in their midst still gaining in detail.

 _It's as if they're . . . possessed_.

Only then, as she was drawn to examine the crowd, did she notice Calisto on the steps behind the priest fellow, standing next to the tall female. He was looking no less obsequious by her side, which again gave her some dark pleasure. Yet a welter of other emotions clamped her stomach: a touch of the old habitual infatuation, poisoned by the fresher acrid resentment.

As she bitterly stared at him, Calisto's eyes rose off the floor and his face turned her way. With a shock, she quickly dropped her own gaze. Her heart raced as she stared at the ground in front of her feet. Had he seen her? He must have! They were in trouble now.

But there were no cries, no sign of anything amiss. In addition to the magical hum, dead silence. The priest was no longer chanting. Why?

Finally, unable to take the tension, she ever so carefully lifted her eyes and sneaked a peek in Calisto's direction. To her great relief, his attention was once more down on the floor. He did not appear terribly invested in the ritual. But the main thing was that he'd not seen her. And to ensure that would remain the case, Ariadne again let her own gaze fall.

Sissel by her side, muttered out of the side of her mouth, "Keep . . . your eyes . . . _down_."

Ariadne felt the pang of embarrassment. It had been a close one. She'd better henceforth do exactly as told.

"Return now," the priest then continued in a booming, resonant voice, "from the bosom of death, and once more inhabit the world of the living. Come forth. We summon you!"

"We summon Mannimarco!"

The accruing magical energy then seemed to reach its zenith: the deepening hum caused pressure pain in Ariadne's skull, and the white center became blindingly bright so that just the briefest of glances left her eyes snowblind. She winced against the onslaught, fighting her instincts to leave the place running.

Just as soon as her resolve to remain in place was starting to crumble, a brilliant explosion of light momentarily filled the room, accompanied by a strange sound in between a yawn and a growl, as if the world itself groaned.

Then it was silent. Quieter than silent, Ariadne thought. The only sound in her ears the roar of her own heart, she kept her eyes squeezed shut, the afterimage of the light still coloring the darkness crimson.

But curiosity won her over, and she soon opened her eyes to see what had happened.

Her mouth practically collapsed open.

Above the ritual floor, now, hovered a faintly glowing apparition, shaped like a man but devoid of flesh. Taut, sallow skin yet clung to the lanky figure's bones, about the pointed elven skull so pale and so tightly wound that it was difficult to tell it apart from the bone underneath. Long, flowing silver hair poured out from the creature's skull, softly waving in the air around him even though the gusts had died out. As if to mock the deathlike impression otherwise dominating him, the large yellow eyes looking out of his skeletal face were virtually ablaze with life. The thing was garbed in tattered black robes.

Mannimarco, the King of Worms, had arrived.

He slowly studied the stunned silent crowd about him, appearing unconcerned, almost bored with what he saw. "Well now," he said, "what's this?" His deep and measured bass-baritone voice was quiet, and yet filled the entire room. Ariadne felt it resonating in her chest, in the pit of her stomach. "And who might of all you be?"

Ariadne gazed in the direction of Calisto. The young man was frowning, seeming uncharacteristically bemused over what he was looking at. The woman beside him, by contrast, stared at the apparition intently, her mismatched eyes virtually glowing in the dark.

The priest, obviously a little shaken himself, took a careful step forward, clearing his throat. "We—" he began.

Mannimarco waved his skeletal hand, and whatever the priest had been about to say died on the lips behind the mask.

"Ah! But I know this place," Mannimarco said. He was appearing to now study not only the crowd but the room surrounding them, and quite possibly beyond. "This particular permutation . . . yes, such an anomaly! Most curious!"

The following brief silence prompted the priest to try to speak again.

"Yes, I can see!" Mannimarco said. "I can see what's being attempted here. Such . . . audacity!" He chuckled low in his throat. "Ah, but that means. . ."

The priest seemed to freeze in place, as the specter then nailed him with a suddenly intense glare.

"You mean to _compel_ me?" said the creature, incredulous. "Why, I should be amused. I only I weren't so . . . _insulted_!" The irritation creeping into his voice was impossible to miss, and the priest shrank back. "Who put you to this?" Mannimarco demanded. "Was it that . . . _upstart_?"

Ariadne had to admire the priest's courage, as he then again stepped forth, forcing a reedy voice out of his throat. "We called you—"

" _Called_ me?" Mannimarco rumbled. "Hah! I came here of my own free will. Can you say the same?" His low laughter was contemptuous. "Oh, but of course you cannot."

"We—"

"SILENCE!"

Everyone in the room flinched at the explosion of a word erupting out of Mannimarco's mouth, including the cult's leader—and certainly including Ariadne.

"The sheer nerve!" the ghost fumed at his frozen audience. "To imagine for a second being able to include me in your little collection! By all means, I should be gravely offended that you should equate me with the little ones! With the likes of Potema! BAH!"

During this, Ariadne tried to catch the eye of either Sissel or Ariela, perhaps to motion to them a humble suggestion that they get the hell out this place before anything more untoward took place. But both of the other women were much too entranced by the display to notice anything else. Chewing the side of her mouth in chagrin, Ariadne then squelched the dishonorable notion of fleeing the place alone, and instead reluctantly awaited whatever it was that would most likely be the death of them all.

The priest yet seemed as if he was contemplating trying to say something, but the intensely animated Mannimarco was, for the time being, allowing no breaches into his monologue.

"You! You pathetic worms. You haven't the faintest clue of who you're dealing with, do you? And so I suppose that I should take pity on you in your ignorance. But I do not! I am so far above all this . . . _patheticness_ that I simply have no patience for ones such as you! No pity whatsoever. So, must I teach you a lesson? Must I? Yes. Yes, I believe that it exactly the way matters stand. Well behold then and listen. I will teach you!"

This, then, was the point—as inopportune as any other, in these circumstances—that the priest chose to attempt once more to appeal to the ghoul. He took a considerably decisive stride forwards, and boomed, "Mannimarco, I compel you—"

"You compel _nothing,_ fool!"

No visible spell poured out of the hand which Mannimarco then hurled out at the priest, but the latter nonetheless was lifted clear off the ground and tossed back. He closely missed anyone else as he plummeted past his comrades and slammed against the wall. The iron mask went clattering on the flagstones, momentarily revealing the waxy Altmeri features before the priest slumped limp onto the floor. Needless to say, once he fell he did not rise again.

Even now there was no terror in the cult leader's aspect—which would make her the only one—but that was not to say that the woman looked happy. No, instead the expression on her sallow, outlandish features could only be described as cold fury.

This, however, did not seem to concern Mannimarco the King of Worms. He snarled at his audience, an expression terrible enough to make a weaker person shit themselves.

"Yes!" he growled. "I want you all to comprehend the gravity of the misjudgment you've made this day. That is . . . while you've still the time. Now." He looked around, yellowed teeth bared in a rictus grin. "Who's next? Is it . . . _you_?"

As the King of Worms wheeled on a cult member, the person in question immediately dropped to their knees. Ariadne could hear pleading, but could not make out the words. If indeed there _were_ words at this point.

"Spare me!" Mannimarco cried in disgust. "I see you! I see your soul. I see the things that you've done! The things that you do. What pleasure you draw from them. Pretend not to be innocent in my eyes! What you can do unto others, I can do thousandfold unto you—never forget that!" He leaned closer to the now shaking cultist. "Is it now your turn? Do you wish to see the true meaning of—?"

"STOP!"

There had been a point somewhere in the middle of all this, Ariadne realized, that she'd closed her mouth. But now, as she saw who it was who had been behind that cry, it was gaping open again, as were her eyes.

It was the scholar!

Mannimarco spun, in fury, to see the maggot who had dared interrupt him. Consternation was plain to see across his ghastly features as well upon seeing the slight woman.

And he was by no means alone in this. The silence of everyone present seemed to further deepen as they all now stared at Ariela. She had stepped forward and now stood almost at the edge of the ritual floor. She had removed her cowl, and, to Ariadne's astonishment, there was no visible fear on her countenance. If anything, she looked angry.

Once Mannimarco had recovered from his initial confusion, his own anger now returned to darken his deathly features. He left the jittering fool behind him and advanced on the woman.

Ariadne could not do anything about any of it. Cold horror seized her as she understood what was about to happen. That she was about to become witness to the little scholar being torn to ribbons by this undead demon from who knew what corner of the deepest reaches of Oblivion. And after that, no doubt, it would be her turn.


	9. The Black Worm and the Beautiful Lilies

**The Black Worm and the Beautiful Lilies**

 _Why? Why did you have to do it? We could have just slipped out and run! There's nothing we can achieve here, and now we're going to be killed by this . . ._ thing _!_

Ariadne stared at the scholar. The mad woman still showed no sign of sensible terror, and instead stood there defiantly as though facing down an unruly puppy who had pissed in her slipper. Meanwhile the puppy in question, the spirit of Mannimarco the King of Worms, prepared to evaporate the little fool, and then undoubtedly proceed to do away with the rest of the hapless crowd in the chamber.

This ritual was about to turn into one giant ritual slaughter.

"What is this?" Mannimarco demanded. "An attempt at . . . humor?" It was as if he had to strain in order to recall the word.

"Leave this place!" Ariela cried. "You do not belong here!"

"Really? And you, _child_? Do you?" He grinned as if it were a particularly crafty trick question.

 _At least he hasn't yet immolated her_ , Ariadne thought. _Then again he's probably simply toying with her, like a cat with a captive mouse_. She glanced at Sissel. The older mage seemed at least as astounded over the scholar's stunt as her, if not more so.

"Ah!" Mannimarco said then, coming to an abrupt stop a few paces from Ariela. "But _I know you_!" He leaned in closer, yellow eyes gleaming as an inquisitive expression came upon his skeletal features. He spoke slowly. "Yes! It's been a long, _long_ time, hasn't it? Hmmm, yes." The eyes seemed to study the air around the scholar. "The Wheel spins around you in most . . . _curious_ ways. The probabilities . . . and the improbabilities. They myriad dimensions . . . the _infinite Void_! And I suppose that you are here to . . ." He paused, the light of comprehension coming over his regard. "Aah! But I can see that you've not yet—"

"I'm not interested in your evil lies!"

Mannimarco seemed genuinely taken aback by the woman's outburst. His scowl looked disappointed. " _Evil_?" he pronounced. "Yes, yes of course. Your kind and your primitive philosophies. Good and evil!" he spat. "I lament that you so persistently refuse to realize how the two are but manifestations of one and the same thing!"

As Ariela said nothing to argue with that, Mannimarco continued. "I, of course, have long since grown past such childish notions. All you need is to keep your eyes _half open_ and it soon becomes abundantly clear what fallacy such a dichotomy truly is. Watch, really _watch_ , history unfolding for a century or two, and you'll find that you can no longer suffer fools entertaining idiocies such as _good_. Such as _evil_! After all, there seems scarcely any limit to the extent of evil done by _good people_."

As Ariela yet simply stared at the raving apparition, he took what might have been a breath, if indeed he did any such thing as breathing, and went on. "But pray do not take me for someone wholly devoid of pity. I understand, believe me I do. You mortals need your comforting delusions. You depend on them, lest you _perish of the truth_! Well, I am here to offer concrete evidence that it doesn't need to be so. If the truth does not destroy you, why, it can _deliver_ you! I am living proof of what fruit gazing into the Void can yield—if only you're strong enough. Overcome your fetters and you too may one day achieve freedom. So."

He turned his attention away from the scholar and to the bemused faces of the cultists populating the room. "Gaze upon me now, lowly ones. I, both destroyer and creator of values—for you cannot be one without the other! I have severed my ties with these lowly forms of existence that bind you. I have finished my path, completed the Endeavour. Achieved true _nu-mantia_ —true freedom! My sense speaketh not unto your sense any longer. I who have reached the 'I' lying at the hub of the Wheel of Aurbis! I am become that which I truly am! I'm become the root. The tree. THE TOWER!"

The ritual chamber seemed to shake at the last bellowed word of the King of Worms, everyone present good and dazed, and at least nobody offering any counterarguments.

Ariadne, on the other hand, was still trying to get over what he'd said to the scholar in the beginning. He _knew_ her? What was that supposed to mean? Not to mention the other gobbledygook.

"And so," said Mannimarco, more equably, "the choice remains yours. Life or death. Heaven or hell. Eternity, or a life as short as it is pointless. I have carved my own destiny, and not a second passes that I do not applaud myself on account of my achievement. My salvation. My _deliverance_! It is available to anyone. At any time. As long as there is the will. As long as there is the desire. As long as there is the effort." He looked to shrug his bony shoulders—an odd gesture from a living corpse. "Do with that what thou wilt."

He eyed around his muted audience for a while, then sharpened his gaze once more on the scholar. The golden eyes narrowed. "Yes," he mused, and chuckled low. "Surprises all around, it seems. How delightful. I do wonder where this is going . . ."

Ariela still simply stood there, her initial anger somewhat faltered to allow for bewilderment, yet with still as defiant a pose as before. It seemed, at least, that the ghoul was no longer intent on smiting her, though precisely what went on inside the obnoxious wraith's skull was a mystery to anyone. Ariadne wasn't so much afraid of him slaughtering them anymore, and more of him continuing the ceaseless smug lecture. He was, it turned out, far worse than any of her magic teachers had ever been! Well, barring, perhaps, Phinis Gestor.

Mannimarco cast a sweeping regard on the crowd. "You can thank the little one here," he said, "for me deciding to spare your puny lives. I find myself . . . persuaded. This reality of yours is far more interesting than I initially supposed, and I shall remain keenly interested in what you make of it."

Sissel's and Ariadne's perplexed eyes met in the dark.

"Well," Mannimarco said, "This has certainly been a curious little visit. But now, I'm afraid, I must bid my fond farewell. I shall keep—"

"NO!"

The King of Worms was not the only one whose head swung in the direction of the furious shriek. It had made the chamber resound every bit as intensely, if not decidedly more frenetically, as his own voice had.

The cult leader had taken a forceful stride forwards, removed her cowl so that the vicious grimace on those deathly-pale and emaciated features, likewise competing with the undead necromancer's, could do full justice to the inhuman sound that had just came out of her throat. "No," she repeated, throatier now and at a considerably less ear-tearing volume, yet no less intense.

" _No_?" Mannimarco repeated, as if he had trouble with that word as well.

"I summoned you!" the woman growled, slowly advancing. "And so I shall command you. And you will not leave this place until I say so!"

It was clear that this was someone used to getting her way. But perhaps, Ariadne reflected, even the uncanny lady was just a little over her head here.

Mannimarco certainly did not appear intimidated. If anything, he looked curious. "Ah, yes," he mused. "You, also, are truly an interesting one. Rarely have I seen one such as . . . _twisted_ as you. Yes. I'm going to be keeping my eye on you as well."

The woman made to lurch for the lich. "You shall not—"

"Oh, but I shall!"

Mannimarco raised a sharp hand and, even as the woman was about to pounce on him, an explosion of bright white light washed over the chamber. But the blast wasn't content with simply blinding everyone, but came with a pressure wave strong enough to knock everyone off their feet, including the three women from the College.

The person closest to the explosion, the cult leader, was flung away not unlike the priest had been, yet did not seem to strike the wall quite as hard.

And then silence returned.

After the initial shock, Ariadne sat up and blinked her once more snowblind eyes in the ensued gloom. At least half of the candles had been snuffed out; the sweet, waxy fragrance from the curling tendrils of smoke was the smell of darkness.

The ritual floor was conspicuously empty. No trace of the King of Worms. Nothing left of the magic which had brought him. Only the ugly staff still leaning against the pedestal.

"Is everyone alright?" The whisper was Sissel's, coming from Ariadne's right.

"I'm fine. I think," Ariadne said.

" _Ariela_?"

The scholar lay on her back a few feet away. "I'm alright," she said impassionedly.

Ariadne frowned at the woman's odd response. Had she bumped her head?

Around them, stunned cult members were slowly picking themselves up from the floor. Further back, the leader still lay on the ground. Ariadne could not tell Calisto apart from the others at the moment.

"We'd better get out of here fast!" Sissel hissed.

Ariela slowly came to her feet. Then she suddenly froze, her attention on the ritual floor. She made to march that way, but Sissel caught her by the sleeve.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"The staff!"

"Forget it!"

"But—"

"No!"

They all jumped at the rageful cry. The cult leader had come to; she was on her knees and elbows, swatting away Calisto's attempt to help her up.

"That _worm_!" the woman growled.

"That's our cue," said Sissel. "We must be going. Now!"

Even now Ariela was hesitant, but the light of reason soon found the scholar as well, and she relented.

Then they were all running for the door.

"There!" the cult leader screamed. "Get them, I will have words with them all!"

 _Uh huh,_ words _. Sure._

"Come on!" Sissel said, pushing Ariela out the door and then spinning with fire blooming in her hands. "You two get—"

"Not a chance!" Ariadne came to stand by the woman, willing flame into herself.

"Fool," said Sissel.

"That makes two of us."

Shortly after nearly being cut down by who knew what matter of supernatural entity, the cult members seemed somewhat slow to act on commands; but by this point the sharpest of them had caught on and were preparing to go after them. Ariadne sought out Calisto, and saw that was looking straight at her. He did not look happy.

"You first, then," said Sissel. "And be quick about it."

"My pleasure," Ariadne replied, her eye still on Calisto, and smiled.

Her entire body tremored with energy as she released a roaring stream of the Wall of Flames out of both hands. The first impact had been directed at Calisto. The light from the pillar of searing heat, however, was so bright in the surrounding murk that she could not see much in the way of anything in the direction where it went. So she simply let the power pour out of her, sweeping her arms in a wide arc to reach as many villains as she could. Before she had depleted all of her magica, though, she relinquished the flow.

"Good work," Sissel said. "Now go, quick!"

The woman's arms, completely engulfed by flames, were already out wide, her face tilted towards the ceiling. Ariadne made haste to get out of the way before the older mage released the power of the Fire Storm. A massive roar blasted the ritual hall behind her as the wave of fire blasted out in every direction. Ariadne had just slunk through and out to the side as a breath of flame shot out from the doorway.

Soon Sissel followed, running. "Go, go, go!"

Before Ariadne followed the other women down the circular stairs lined with candles, she cast a conjuration spell, and soon a massive being of carved ice stood in front of her. She ran past the Frost Atronach, gesturing at the door. "Sic 'em, girl!"

"Good thinking!" Sissel said as she caught up with the woman.

"I know," Ariadne replied.

"And not bad in there, by the way. Didn't know you knew expert level destruction. There's potential in you yet, kid!"

Ariadne snorted.

"We're not out yet!" reminded the scholar a couple steps ahead of them.

 _Speaking of which._ "Look out!" Ariadne cried, pointing.

Ariela let out yelp as Sissel's fireball passed close to her. The two robed men in the hallway had not looked like they had anticipated meeting anyone, let alone being attacked. And so they could not find it in them to react fast enough, and the detonation knocked them both over like a pair of wooden pins.

There were sounds somewhere behind them, so Ariadne tossed another conjuration spell over her shoulder. A Flame Atronach, this time. As they passed the two fresh cadavers, then, Sissel waved a hand over the other, and magical light lit the corpse up, lifting it off the ground. These were but puny hindrances, but certainly better than nothing.

They once again passed the room with the bookshelves, and the vampire still stood in his old place. This time he did not even bother to look up from his book as they passed.

Their flight was otherwise unobstructed, and they soon arrived at the top of stairs leading down to a hallway with a door straight ahead of them.

"Almost there," Sissel said. "That's the main entrance down there. Quick!"

The hallway seemed empty, and Ariadne dared hope. As they came to the door, however, there were noises from their left. In a passageway there, through which they'd come earlier, there were a host of cultists. Three of them robed, one in her underwear.

"There!" screamed the half-naked woman. "Those are the ones who—"

Her croak was cut short, as Sissel had charged a two-handed fireball which she now unleased on them. The passageway filled with first fire and then smoke, and then there were no further signs of the cultists.

"There," said Sissel, content. "That's one less loose end. I'll be sleeping better tonight."

"If we linger any more we might all be sleeping forever!" Ariadne said.

"Or then never again," added Ariela.

"Right y'are," Sissel said. "After you, ladies."

The air of a spring night in Ariadne's face had never been sweeter. What she'd missed before, the many sweet and heady fragrances of the temperate Whiterun Hold, were now incredibly vivid. And after the hours spent in the claustrophobic and musty quarters of the keep, the proximity of death and perhaps worse ever looming above, this was like a return to life. And it was incredibly beautiful!

She was, of course, perfectly aware that it was too early to start celebrating.

"You two go ahead!" Sissel said, motioning straight ahead toward the collapsed barbican. "I know where Ariela's horse is kept; I'll go get it and I'll meet you where we left ours. Shake a leg now!"

The two younger women ran as though Sithis himself was after them—which technically he was, or his cronies at any rate. Cries rang from the direction of the courtyard by the time they reached the horses. Ariadne worried that Sissel had not been quick enough. Or, gods forbid, she had led them on saying that she knew about Ariela's nag, and instead had stayed to try to slow the villains down.

"Sissel," Ariela said, anxious, echoing Ariadne's fears.

"I don't know," Ariadne admitted, untying the horses.

"We have to. . ."

"To what?" Ariadne demanded. "Go back? Be my guest, if your own life means that little to you. It certainly seemed like it back in there!"

There was a wounded edge to the scholar's glare.

"Okay," the mage relented. "Sorry. But you know there's nothing we can do."

"Did she . . .?"

She shook her head. "I don't know. Gods, I hope not."

"They'll be soon coming."

"I'm aware of that.

"How long should we—"

"Listen!"

In the darkness, then, the beating of hooves.

 _Oh, sweet Dibella, don't let it be them!_ "Only one horse, I think," Ariadne said. "One of them I could take care of. Unless, of course, it's—"

"Calisto!" Ariela gasped.

"Shhhh!"

Within a couple more long seconds, a familiar auburn mare emerged from the gloom.

"Lucky!" the scholar exclaimed.

"Not for long!" Sissel said. "What are you waiting for, a formal request? We're still on the run!"

"You've got her horse," Ariadne pointed out.

"Alright," Sissel said, swinging out of the saddle. For some reason the bastards had seen fit to equip it with one, unless that had been Sissel's doing. "Since everybody suddenly needs their own horses in order to ride anywhere."

Once they'd all mounted, Ariadne still riding bareback—and, to be honest about it, she was starting to grow accustomed to, even enjoy the feeling—, they took off at a gallop.

"This way, follow me!" said Sissel, veering her horse toward northwest.

"Are we returning to the college?" asked the flabbergasted scholar.

"Of course not, silly," the older woman replied. "Just taking a bit of a detour."

Ariadne really could not tell whether her reply had been sarcastic or not, but she thought it better not to ask. She'd find out soon enough, anyway, what the lady was planning.

At length, they arrive at the edge of the coniferous forest, having crossed over to the Pale. There did not seem to be anyone following, but they certainly did not slow their pace. Sissel guided them to a path branching out to their left, then after some moments let Ariela move on ahead of her.

"Well," Sissel said, looking over her shoulder at Ariadne. "That was easier than I anticipated. Luck, for once! And they don't seem to—" Her grin faltered as she eyed the distance. "Ah, shit on leeks!"

Ariadne's head swung. A horse was approaching at full gallop.

"Ariadne!" came the rider's fevered cry.

"Fucking Calisto!" she snarled.

"You can't get away from me, Ariadne!"

"Eat this!" Sissel flung a fireball at the man.

Calisto swerved his horse out of the way. "Missed!" And a lightning bolt volleyed out to them.

Sissel barely got her head out of the way, and the maneuver temporarily unsettled her on the saddle.

In spite of her preferences, Ariadne switched to Frost and unleashed a host of Icy Spears at Calisto. But the bastard seemed almost bedeviled in the way that he evaded each of them. Then she had to focus on the riding for a while again.

"Are we having fun yet?" he screamed. "Come back to me and I'll show you what a really good time is!"

"More expert spells?" Sissel asked Ariadne. "Attagirl! Now, let's see if this slows him any." She let go of both hands and a hoary blue jet poured out of them. She aimed at the ground right behind them, and where the spell hit, a spiky growth of ice stuck to the road's surface. She moved her hands back and forth so that the Frost Wall covered the whole path. "Sorry for his horse, but . . ."

But a second later, as Ariadne cast a look back, she saw the spray of flame from Calisto's hands thaw the ice enough so as to not offer him much of an obstacle.

"Thought he might do that." Sissel's hands were off again, and now she charged a Fireball. Anticipating Calisto's speed distance, she let the charge fly. It hit the ground just at his horse's feet. The animal screamed, rearing. "Yes!" Sissel hissed.

"Poor thing!"

Ariadne scowled ahead at Ariela, who was looking over her shoulder with a pitying look on her face.

"Poor thing, having to carry such a sack of shit around!" Ariadne said. "Death would be a mercy."

Sissel grinned. "Well, I'd bet that—"

"Save your bets," Ariadne said, motioning with her head.

Sissel's head spun. "Oh, for crying. . . Don't you ever quit!" she screamed at the still proceeding Calisto. Even at this distance, Ariadne could see his manic grimace.

"I'll quit once I win!"

Lightning flashed.

Now it was Arcana who screamed, as the bolt hit her in the rump. She did not slow down, but the pain and the shock jarred her gate, swaying her rear wildly as she galloped, and Ariadne had to struggle to stay on without a saddle, needing to clinch the horse's muscular neck with both arms. "Easy!" she tried cooing in its ear. "Easy, girl!" But to no effect.

Sissel extended one hand Arcana's way, while using the other to shower fire after them. The hand aimed at the horse glowed a warm light, and soon enough the horse's gait returned to normal.

"Thanks!" Ariadne said, daring to relieve her hold a little.

"You can thank me when we're out of this! A kiss maybe."

Ariadne glared at the woman, then, in spite of the circumstances, grinned. "You know, I might just give you one if we make it."

Sissel returned the grin. "I'll hold you to that."

Another lightning bolt just missed Sissel's horse, and she returned it with two of her own. Calisto deftly avoided both, seeming almost to have made his horse a part of himself the way he controlled the animal.

 _He's gonna catch up to us!_ Ariadne faced ahead and grit her teeth. _This isn't enough, we can't keep him from_ —

Her eye then caught something in the near distance, and an idea suddenly presented itself. _It's worth the shot!_

"Keep him busy!" she said to Sissel.

"What are you gonna do."

"You'll see soon enough."

She carefully let go of Arcana's neck, pressing hard with her legs. "Easy now," she said, but whether it was more to the horse or herself was not entirely clear. She brought her hands close together and let the energy build. She let the magical power amass until she felt nearly drained; then, as she was in the right place, she let fly.

The fireball was cast out to the side, at a tall, thick-trunked spruce by the roadside.

"What are you doing?" Sissel demanded, whereas Ariela looked back at the noise with wide eyes.

"Just wait!"

The explosive hurdle struck right in the middle of the tree's bole, close to the bottom. Accompanying the detonation was loud crack, and a widening gash rapidly snaked up the three, scattering bark all about. Then the tree groaned.

"Yes!" Ariadne cried. _Sorry, tree!_

Once they'd passed, and before Calisto could spur his horse past, the tree slowly toppled crosswise on the path, right in front of the man. This time his horse could do nothing about the sudden obstacle. Ariadne could see it rearing, and heard Calisto's curses.

"Ha-ha- _ha_!" Sissel whooped. "So long, sucker! Excellent work!" she told Ariadne. "That's using the old noggin!"

The young mage ginned.

"I'll get you yet, Ariadne!" shrieked Calisto, from behind the felled tree.

Furious, Ariadne twisted around to scream back, " _Not if I get you first_!"

"Follow me," Sissel said, taking the lead again.

"Are there gonna be others?" cried Ariela.

"Sincerely doubt it. But we should find out soon enough."

They rode hard until their horses tired, and once they slowed down found themselves alone in the forest.

"Alright," said Sissel. "That's good enough. Now, turn right over there."

"Where are we headed?" Ariela asked.

"To Whiterun."

"What's there?"

"Safety," Sissel replied. "Relatively speaking. For now, at least."

And so, seemingly untailed, they rode down onto the Whiterun plains. The darkness around them was starting to pale. The days were rapidly getting longer and the nights shorter in the middle of the Second Seed. At their leisurely pace, Ariadne deeply breathed the balmy, perfumed spring air. The wealth of scents from flowers and plants, even in these relatively bare surroundings, combined with that hard-to-describe damp smell of dew and soil was positively intoxicating!

On a particularly green patch near the city grew countless white flowers on sagging racemes. Lilies of the Valley. And as the faint breeze brushed across them, it carried over such a sweet fragrance that Ariadne felt almost dizzy. It had been so long, it felt, since she'd last felt true spring, that she could have just cried now that it was finally here. It made her whole body prickle, and combined with the afterglow of the magic the effect was made manifold. Truth be told, it made her feel a bit . . . well, _horny_. But recent events considered, she chose not to linger on those sensations, and instead focused on the simple pleasure of being alive and breathing.

From who knew where, then, a sudden memory came, pertaining to the Lily of the Valley, as she let her eye linger on the inflorescences. From one of her mandatory alchemy classes. The plant was not only a treat to the eye, an ornament of nature, but also a potent herb, used particularly for poisons. For all its simple beauty, it was very toxic. Something in it unfavorably affected the heart, and when alchemically reinforced, it made a poison which could convincingly produce a result passing for natural death.

 _Way to throw shade on the lovely ambiance, Ariadne!_

She sighed. After a good night's—well, _morning's_ —sleep, and with a fresher mind, she should give this "enjoying the simple things" business another go.

The parameters about the city wall were about as quiet as one would expect; but soon enough, with the arrival of morning, that would change. Off to the side was a small Khajiit camp, consisting of a large merchant tent with some of the anthropomorphic felines camping outside of it. Two individuals were awake at this time, sitting by the fireside outside the tent.

"There's something sad about them."

Ariadne, surprised, looked at Ariela. The scholar was also studying the Khajiit.

"In general or in particular?" asked Sissel.

"In particular."

"Well," Sissel said as she lowered herself from her saddle. "Nothing new there. Sad bastards all 'round."

They stopped at the Whiterun Stables. Unsurprisingly, not a soul around. The fire outside of the building burning, a couple of horses unguarded in the separate manger.

"Wait here," Sissel said. She went to bang on the door. Soon a man opened and they traded some words, Sissel motioning in the direction of their horses. The man did not appear to be particularly bothered by being torn from his slumber.

"Alright," the woman said upon returning. "Here's the plan. You two lay low for a while. I spoke to the stable owner and he agreed to watch after your horses.

Ariadne gave the manger a dubious glance. Seemed that "take care of" was a relative notion. At least the beasts would be fed.

"And what will you—"

"I'll get to that. So, in the city there's an Inn called the Bannered Mare. The owner knows me. Just mention my name and she'll take care of the rest."

"And what about you?" asked Ariela.

"I have to get back to the College immediately. Faralda must hear about what happened." She sighed at Ariadne's expression of apprehension. "Look, you are right not to trust me, or anyone for that matter. But I need to get back to the Arch-Mage, and inform her of what happened. Indeed, I fear that the situation is even is more serious than we originally thought. I don't know what all of this means, but it can't be good."

"You do what you must, of course," said Ariela. She paused. "And of course we trust you!"

"Yeah," Ariadne echoed. "Are you kidding? You more than proved yourself!"

"Well," Sissel said, appearing as though trying to cover up uncharacteristic bashfulness with more characteristic severity. "Be that as it may, being suspicious, as I'm sure we've all learned well by now, is by no means a stupid precaution."

Ariela glowered. "Tell me about it. I've learned that lesson to last for a lifetime."

"Alright," Sissel said with a sigh, taking a sweeping look about. "Now, before I go, there's something I need to get off my chest." She wheeled on Ariela. "So what was all that supposed to be? The shit you pulled in there?"

Ariela blinked, dumbfounded by the sudden assault, and then scowled. "Oh, like saving all of our lives?"

Sissel clearly hadn't been preparing for that comeback, the way her brows shot up.

Then the old Ariela returned, and she seemed to deflate, casting her eyes down. "Really, though," she said. "I have no idea. I was as surprised as anyone, and then some. It's just that . . . well, I was compelled to act. And before I knew it . . . well, it was all happening."

"What happened in there anyway?" asked Ariadne. She'd been afraid to ask, she realized.

"Not sure, to be honest," replied Ariela quietly, then looked up at both of the women in turn. "All I can say with any certainty is that that was no mere necromancer back from the dead."

A moment of silence as they weighed that statement.

"Those things it was saying to you. . ." Ariadne said.

"I don't know," Ariela replied with a shake of her head. "My guess is that he was trying to confuse me somehow. Creatures like him are known to be devious like that."

Another wordless stretch.

"The Temple of Sithis," Sissel then muttered.

"What?" Ariadne asked.

"That's what the priest, or whatever he was supposed to be, called them."

"What does it mean?" Ariela suddenly looked dead tired.

"Wish I knew," Sissel said. "But I mean to find out."

Ariadne took a wary look around at the placid early morning perimeters outside the city wall. "Are they . . ."

"They've got better things to think about right now, I'd say," Sissel assured. "It's over for now. But obviously it's not _really_ over. And Calisto is still out there, and he's not going to forget."

"Neither am I," Ariadne muttered.

"He's planning something," Ariela said. "Something of his own."

"Undoubtedly," Sissel said. "I also mean to find out just what. And I mean to stop him."

" _We_ ," said Ariadne.

Sissel smiled. "All in good time, kid. All in good time. Rest now, and lay low." She looked down at the women's robes. "And get yourself some different clothes for gods' sake!"

They all chuckled, albeit Ariela slightly more reservedly.

"Alright," Sissel said. "I'll meet you in a couple days, once I know more, or at least once me and the Arch-Mage have something like a plan. Lay low, and await my message."

"Thank you, Sissel!" Ariadne said, as emphatically as she could

"Yeah," echoed Ariela. "Thank you. For everything."

The woman grinned. "Don't thank me yet. I might have just gotten you in more trouble than you were initially in."

"I sincerely doubt that," Ariela said.

"Yeah," Sissel said. "Me too. Still, wait till this is over, _truly over_ , and then we'll celebrate." She gave Ariadne a wink, and the young mage felt her face redden. Sissel laughed.

 _She's onto you_ , she thought. _And so she's teasing you. And, well, guess I have it coming_. "Take care, Sissel," she said.

"You too. And take good care of her." She gestured at the scholar. "She had quite the shock back there."

Ariela looked small right then, even smaller than usual, and said nothing.

 _Oh, and what about me and_ my _shock—_

Ariadne smiled. "I will."

Sissel hopped on her horse and bid farewell. A few paces out, however, she turned one last time. "And Ariadne? About that kiss you promised . . ."

"Uh . . ."

"You can save that for after we've shoved Calisto's own severed gonads down his throat."

Ariadne grinned. "After that I think I'll even give Ariela here a big ol' smooch!"

The scholar frowned.

And then Sissel clicked her tongue, and her horse took off at a canter.

"Well," Ariadne said, eyeing the city. "Let's go get some rest."

"Yes," Ariela sighed. "Let's!"

Just as Sissel said, the owner of the Bannered Mare, a middle-aged woman named Ysolda, gave them a warm welcome as they mentioned the mage's name. Upon being told that they were trying to lay low, she graciously promised to do everything she could to help. And, even better, she also turned out to be a rather well-stocked merchant, and so both of the women could find new garb to replace the repugnant ceremonial robes. For Ariela, the plain gray tunic and breeches that the woman seemed fond of, and—as luck would have it!—a brand new set of adept robes for Ariadne. And they were offered food on the house! Delicious, hot food! And they both ate to their hearts' content.

The only thing missing from all of that would have been a bath. And yes, that would have been too much to ask. But the more Ariadne thought about it . . .

 _Yes, so just stop thinking about it!_

It was probably close to dawn by the time they finally got to their room—sharing a two-person room seemed the safest bet—judging by the increasing light outside. But they were surely both exhausted enough so that sleep would come without trouble.

And yet, in spite of feeling the tiredness all around her body, the energy from all the excitement yet held Ariadne in its grip. She hadn't felt quite as sexually stirred as she sometimes did after magic, probably not entirely unrelated to the earlier circumstances and the whole debacle with Calisto, but as they'd spent some moments at the tavern her eyes had lingered on a few burly men sitting by the fireside. They'd been far too rugged for her tastes for the most part, but then again . . . She'd made sure, however, to not let any one of them notice her looking. She would have surely heard no end of it. In fact, she'd been rather surprised that they had all seemed to pay extraordinarily little attention to her. Well, no matter . . . In any case, though she could now feel the energy about her loins as well as the rest of her, she focused on the latter.

They sure had raised a stink back there! The repulsive cultists would surely think twice before messing with their kind again. And soon they would be delivered an even more decisive message once the College got their act together. She would personally be there, she swore, to see Calisto's downfall, enact as much of it as was possible. And she would enjoy every second!

Ariela frowned. "What are you smirking about now?"

Ariadne shrugged, still grinning. "I might have seemed a bit worked up before, and I was—but now that I think of it, that was kind of fun, wasn't it? What, now don't say you didn't enjoy it even a little bit!"

Ariela shook her head.

"Oh, but you were great!"

The scholar's eyes widened.

"Seriously! I mean, yeah, I know what I said earlier, but I didn't really mean it. And yeah, at the time I could have just strangled you— Look, the bottom line is, you were incredibly brave! Did you see all those cowards in their cowls, positively shaking in front of that hideous ghoul, and there's you all, 'Stop! You don't belong here! Begone!'"

"That's not exactly what I—"

Ariadne waved. "That's not the point. Look, what I'm trying to say here . . ." She sighed. "Alright, so I know I haven't always exactly behaved like the perfect assistant. I know I can be a little . . . well, petulant. And I apologize. Now, I'm not gonna lie and say I'm going to change, but I'm going to make an effort. You may be a bit dull, but there's strength in you that doesn't meet the eye."

Ariela was silent after that—seeming, perhaps, to have some mixed emotion about the latter part of Ariadne's endorsements.

"And, you know," Ariadne added after a pause, "your nose, in truth, really isn't that big at all."

Ariela frowned. "What?" she said softly, unconsciously lifting a hand to the mentioned nose.

Ariadne softly clapped the woman's arm. "Time to hit the sack, don't you think?" She smiled. "Good night, Ariela. I do hope you manage to sleep after all that. Sweet dreams!"

Leaving the scholar, muttering something back, standing in the middle of the room, Ariela went to her bed. It had fresh sheets, at least, even if the rest of it left room for wishing. Not that her bedclothes back at the College had been any more luxurious. And besides, she could have comfortably slept in a bale of hay at her current level of exhaustion. So she tucked herself in without any criticism whatsoever.

Yet she couldn't fall asleep for what felt like the longest time. Not that she greatly suffered for it. She lay there on her back, staring at the bare-wooded plank ceiling, and let her mind run over all that had happened. This wasn't really her chosen pastime, but she recognized the need of her mind to sum it all up, so she figured it was easier to simply give in to it. Furthermore, she soon realized that she was experiencing one of those sorts of tiredness which gave falling asleep something of a menacing feeling. As though her being over exhausted would cause succumbing to slumber be too harsh or jarring. Uncomfortably close to death, or at least that's what she supposed.

Eventually, and quite without her realizing it, as was the way of these things, she did fall asleep. And she dreamt of being lost in a great big labyrinth stretching for miles upon bewildering miles, desperately searching for a way out, knowing that a terrible monster was in the labyrinth with her. The monster knew of her too, and it was after her, with no other purpose than to destroy her, body, soul and all, if it caught her. She could hear from afar its heavy breath and its low and steady growl and its laborious steps as it hunted. She was for all appearances all alone, yet on another level she felt as though there were others with her, friends who trusted her to get them out of there. And she was growing desperate.

Then, however, she felt as though an inborn light, a tremendous source of strength which she had forgotten that she possessed, returned to her and aided her. As she gained self-assurance, she realized that with this light, and with the help of her own cunning and skill, she was able to lead herself, and those possibly with her, out of the maze. And that conviction soon seemed to turn into reality, as she could picture the correct route out with her mind's eye. She knew that the exit was just around the corner.

Right as she was about to reach the exit, then, as soon as she had almost let herself celebrate her victory, the monster appeared right in front of her, seemingly out of nowhere. There was nothing she could do. She had lost. And if anyone had ever counted on her, they were now going to be let down in a most horrific manner. This was the end of all hope. The monster, she now knew, would win. It would always win.

And when the monster caught her, it made her look into its terrible eyes of measurelessly deep darkness, and spoke to her in her own voice.

* * *

 **The end of The Infinite Void. Thanks for reading!**


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